The Saturday Job
by thethingthathasnoname
Summary: Slightly AU - basically another version of how Frank and Stephen could have gotten together. The pair accidentally end up working the same Saturday Job. While they initially believe themselves to hate the other, the job proves to build more than just their serving skills and cash income. Lots of graymichael fluff, love to hate idea, enjoy!
1. The Saturday Job

**The Saturday Job**

_Slightly AU - basically another version of how Frank and Stephen could have gotten together. The pair accidentally end up working the same Saturday Job. While they initially believe themselves to hate the other, the job proves to build more than just their serving skills and cash income. Lots of graymichael fluff, enjoy!_

Frank Grayson did not belong here, working an actual job at an actual, decent restaurant. He squeaked his smart shoes uncomfortably and writhed in his starchy apron.

He was fucking surprised they gave him the job, what with his piercings and tattoo and skinhead haircut, but they must be desperate in the run up to Christmas. It wasn't like he expected it to last or anything - he'd probably get kicked out in the first few weeks - and he was only here because his Dad had forced him into it saying they needed the money. Which they did, but why _he _didn't get off his lazy ass to get the money himself, Frank didn't dare ask.

Someone walked past, another waiter person possibly, and Frank ducked his head, avoiding eye contact at all costs. It wasn't that he was shy or afraid or nothing… just, you know, this was well awkward. He looked like such a dipshit.

Oh fuck, what if someone saw him? What if he had to serve someone he knew? Like Dickers… or Chicken Dipper... He burrowed even further into his collar, hunching his shoulders and hiding his face. What the fuck was he doing here again?

Stephen twirled into _Bill's_ restaurant where he had managed to land himself a Saturday job. He was quite proud; _Bill's _was a decent place and had good food. Plus, he felt utterly fabulous in the apron and shirt get up – like in a proper musical or something. He sashayed between the tables, ready to make the best impression he could, heading towards the counter where he could see what appeared to be another newbie waiting.

But as he drew nearer, he recognised something about the stance, about a certain the tilt of the head, that was undeniably familiar. Yet he just couldn't quite place it with the boy's face averted and huddled close to his chest – he was evidently shy, the cutie. It was only when Stephen was barely a few metres away from the boy, did he finally realise who he actually was.

"Grayson?!" he exclaimed, watching Frank's head whip round before flushing a deep shade of red. "What are you doing here?!"

Smooth, Stephen. As if that wasn't blatantly obvious.

"I got a job, init." Frank mumbled in reply, mentally cursing the world for this.

"But… why? And how? And why, you know, here and now and what?" Stephen continued, too in shock to think properly – aware that he was coming across as rude but unable to stop himself. "I mean… you're Frank Grayson… you don't get a job. You just steal stuff and deal drugs behind the bins! You don't work… and especially not here!"

Frank resisted from telling Stephen that he'd never actually stolen anything and the only contact he'd had with drugs was his Dad's anger management meds.

"Whatever." Frank shrugged instead. Got to keep up an image.

Stephen looked like he was about to continue, but Frank glared at him and he stopped.

Why did it have to be _him_? Frank asked to the world. Why him? Anyone but him. Cos seriously, the fucking poof from Special K was the last person he wanted to have to be spending any time with right now. I mean, he wasn't homophobic or any of that shit; he didn't give a fuck whether the boy was straight as a roundabout or rainbow, but he just couldn't be dealing with that level of happiness that the bitch always seemed to have about him. Not with Frank's school life and home life and general life going the way it was.

Plus, it was a harsh reminder of the only main interaction he'd had with the brat, which was when the fag had kicked him in the fucking face. For such a feminine male, it was a fucking good kick – it really fucking hurt. Not that Frank would ever admit that, to anyone. Cos Frank didn't get… hurt. He didn't feel pain. Nah… he was a man. Unlike the little flake beside him. Fuck, he fucking pissed him off so much sometimes and Frank didn't even know why… Fuck, why him? Why him, world, why?

Stephen snuck a glance at the moody image of Grayson beside him. He was frowning and scowling, slouched and unresponsive. He just looked so out of place and uncomfortable that Stephen wondered yet again why he was here, and also how the hell he got hired. They must be really bloody desperate. God, that guy was such a downer, and just such a bully. Perhaps that's how he got the job, by threatening his way in. Stephen seriously wouldn't put it past him.

Thankfully, they were saved from their awkward silence of mutual hatred by a member of staff approaching them.

"Stephen Carmichael and Frank Grayson, right?" the girl asked, and the pair nodded their consent; Stephen with a smile, Frank with a glare. She looked a little disheartened and shaken by Frank's appearance and approach so hesitated before continuing. "Come this way, please."

They followed her into the back area next to the kitchens and spent the next few hours having a crash course in how everything worked. It was alright, nothing too difficult. Even Frank should be able to manage this, Stephen mentally smirked. They practiced the routine of it all, Stephen grinning and making polite conversation with their helper, Stacey, as he did so, while Frank kept his head down and movements minimal.

At the end of the day, they were shown their lockers where they could leave their aprons and badges and whatnot, which both started to do so. Stephen was about to continue his discussion with Stacey about the importance of individuality in the workplace, but she had apparently gone, leaving the pair in their silence as before.

Just as Stephen was finishing and closing his locker, he felt someone grab his arm. He looked up to find Frank leaning unnervingly close, eyes cold and teeth bared.

"Just because we're gonna have to do this job together, doesn't mean that we are in any way going to talk or whatever in school." He hissed.

Stephen nodded hastily, slightly afraid of Frank's tone.

"And if you say anything about this to anyone then I will personally make sure it is the last thing you ever say… Got it?" He finished, and with that shoved Stephen against the lockers and slouched past him.

God, he hated that arrogant bully. How on earth was he going to be able to work with such a horrible person?

Fucking hell, it was gonna suck working with the poof. How the fuck was he gonna be able to work with someone like him around the entire time, being so happy and gay and whatever. And he could fucking tell people at any moment. Oh fucking hell.

So the other day I went to this restaurant Bill's and spent a lot of time imagining and creating this graymichael fic. It's gonna develop from this hate to love, so is slightly alternative universe style thing but not really; I just love the hate to love thing so much in romcoms etc. Don't worry, there will be lots of cutesy Frank and Stephen in later chapters; just you wait, my dears. Hope you are excited and enjoying so far!


	2. First Day on the Job

The week passed uncomfortably quickly and too soon, for Frank, Saturday had arrived. Which meant spending pretty much the entire day with the little fag. Luckily, he had only seen the poof once when they were passing in a corridor: they had made momentary eye contact, before Frank had raised one eyebrow, and Stephen had looked hurriedly away. There was no way that Frank would have been the one to bow out. He just prayed that no one saw. He didn't need any rumours going round that he was in any way queer. His life was difficult enough.

Stephen sighed as he swayed into _Bill's_ for his first day. The week had been bad enough, making awkward eye contact with Bully Grayson, and just generally feeling on edge whenever he looked his way or they were even in the same room. It was like his awareness for the thug had heightened and suddenly he was on the forefront of his mind 24/7. He didn't even know why; he wasn't doing anything wrong. Plus, he could hold his ground against him. He just didn't like having anything to do with him.

The second Frank sauntered through the doors, his eyes did an involuntary sweep of the room for Stephen. They found him immediately, leaning against the counter talking to some girl in an apron. She was all over him, smiling and playing with her hair. Someone needed to tell her he was off-his-fucking-nuts gay. I mean, couldn't she fucking tell? Whatever.

He sighed and walked over to the pair, rolling his shoulders back and tilting his head up just a bit. Confident. Dominant. Proud. Perhaps just a little bit cocky. Yeh. He'd got this.

Why was he even making such a big effort, anyway. They were just co-workers… especially as one of them was the fag. But. You know. Whatever.

"Alright, Glee?" he smirked, watching Stephen's head whip round and the girl beside him cowering a little.

What? Frank wasn't intentionally being _that _intimidating.

However, instead of shrinking away from him like her, Stephen cocked his head and looked Frank straight in the eyes. He refused to let Grayson bully him.

"Yeh not too bad. You?" he replied.

Well…

This was new, Frank thought.

"M'alright." Frank shrugged, determined not to be the one to back down. "Had a good week?"

Stephen took a deep breath; this was too good an opportunity to show him who's boss.

"Well, I didn't see much of you so…" he dropped a wink and smiled suggestively, only slightly terrified.

Frank's reaction, however, was worth any repercussions. His eyes widened, his jaw sagged and his eyebrows shot up.

Stephen looked away grinning and waited for the shouting or the punching.

But it never came.

Instead, he heard Frank's gravelly voice lean in and whisper in his ear. "Looks like we'll have to rectify that tonight then."

It was Stephen's turn to be shocked, whirling his head round and blinking astonished at the boy beside him, who was nonchalantly looking around the room as though nothing had just happened.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at Stephen.

Their eyes met.

And Frank nearly laughed out loud at the expression on the bitch's face. His perfectly placed features were distorted by shock; everything seemed to have forgotten how to work and instead simply hung there, gormlessly. That showed him not to mess with Frank Grayson.

Stephen tried to think of something to say – he could not let him win – but he just couldn't. He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came to mind as to what the hell to say, so he closed it again. He was vaguely aware that he probably looked like a gold fish. Dammit. So much for showing him who's boss.

Thankfully, their instructor came over and started telling them what to do, so they obeyed and got on with their work; Frank still smirking over his victory, Stephen still fuming over his failings.


	3. Clean Up Your Act

"Right boys!" came the call from their boss towards the end of the pair's shift the following Saturday. "The time has come for me to introduce you to your new colleagues. Meet cloth, bucket, mop, broom, brush and table spray; I am sure you will become well acquainted over the coming weeks."

He smiled, not unpleasantly, merely authoritatively, and walked away.

Stephen half expected Frank to try and bully his way out of this, but, surprisingly, he merely walked over and grabbed a cloth and table spray.

He must have been staring because when Frank glanced back he shrugged and said "What?"

"Nothing…" Stephen almost blushed. Almost… cos he didn't. Because he just didn't blush, on principal. Especially not to Frank Grayson. "Do you even know how to use those?" he challenged.

Frank glared at him, but having spent so much time with the boy recently, Stephen no longer felt afraid of that glare and simply raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"Believe it or not, I'm not an absolute retard." Frank commented.

"I never said you were." Stephen returned evenly. "Just… you don't exactly seem like the cleaning type."

Surprisingly, Frank just laughed. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

Stephen considered pushing it, but there was a glint in Grayson's eyes that told him to drop it. Even if he was being… civil… now, Stephen didn't trust him not to explode any second. That boy was highly unstable.

He reached for the scrubbing brush and picked it up, carefully examining its mucky state. "Urgh… do we have to do this? It's so dirty. And I might break a nail!"

Oh my god… his nails were buffed to perfection! If the ugly brush dared to hurt his precious nails in any way then seriously… some bitch is gonna die.

"Shouldn't you be good at this?" Frank countered.

"Why?" Stephen furrowed his brow in disgust at the mere thought of it.

"You know… you seem like the type." Frank smirked, tilting his head and returning the eyebrow raise.

Stephen turned away, nearly blushing… again. Seriously, what was wrong with him? But damn Grayson for throwing his words back at him like that… he hadn't meant anything by them but… you know… dammit. God's sake… How did Grayson keep one-upping him?

He grabbed a bucket and started daintily scrubbing the floor.

Ew this was disgusting.

They worked in a not exactly comfortable silence – because whatever their strange work relationship was, it wasn't comfortable – but it wasn't awkward either.

Naturally, Stephen's brain starting over dramatizing the whole situation – what could he say; he was a drama queen at heart! It was basically like Cinderella…. or High School Musical 2! Oooh! Musicals! There had to be some great songs - like in Enchanted the Happy Little Working Song! Or, or, or Les Miserables: Look Down!

Quietly, he started whistling away all at his favourite tunes; envisaging the cameras and background music. And the spotlight on him, obviously. Any moment now, backing dancers would burst out from the kitchens and Grayson would reveal his talent for tap!

Ok… so maybe he was getting a little carried away… But still. It was so perfect! His brain was running wild as he grinned to himself at the general scene he was creating inside his head.

… What. Was. That. Noise …

Urgh… is the fag whistling? What even is that tune? It's so… happy. Frank attempted to catch the poof's eye to scowl at him, hoping he would stop. However, he seemed so caught up in his own little happy-clappy, bubbly, bright and beautiful, yellow and sunshine, cake and rainbows, love and peace and happiness world that he didn't even acknowledge Frank's presence. If anything, he whistled a little louder.

Frank gritted his teeth and tried to carry on with his table wiping, but he had never exactly been the best at holding back his frustration.

Finally, he had had enough. He whipped around, intent on yelling at the fucker to shut the fucking hell up…

But froze, transfixed.

Because Stephen was kneeling on the floor on all fours, scrubbing away at a particularly resistant stain.

And Frank could see every single muscle in his body tensed and rippling – from his pleasantly carved arms, to his perfectly moulded thighs, and his meticulously chiselled abdominals (which were displayed through the too tight top, alone making Frank's breathing hitch).

And his arse. Bloody hell. It was like a sculpture; all firm, but rounded, and just generally wonderfully formed… so gripping and…

And oh my fucking god, Frank was staring at another dude's arse.

At Stephen's arse.

Stephen – Glee – the fucking poof from Special K.

And Frank was staring at his arse.

Because he liked his arse.

…

No. Brain. Stop it.

He hastily spun back around; face flushed, heart pounding, breaths falling heavily and unevenly.

What the fuck was that?

What the fuck was Frank thinking?

What the fuck did that little shit think he was doing?

It was all his fucking fault.

Whistling and being all fucking happy and all fucking hot and shit and waving his butt around like a fucking banner.

And he was still fucking whistling.

"Shut the fuck up!" Frank yelled, turning on him.

Stephen's head shot up from where he had been staring at the floor, lips still frozen in their whistling position.

And a very damn fine position that was too…

NO. STOP IT.

"Erm." Stephen attempted, his face going a little pink. "Sorry?" he tried.

"Whatever." Frank spat and hurriedly turned away again. Bloody hell, his mind was fucked up - what the hell was wrong with him?

What in the name of the good queen Lady Gaga?... Stephen stared, slightly in shock and unsure what to do. His whistling couldn't have been that bad, could it? Because, Jesus Christ, the boy had looked like a freaking mad man – eyes wide like he'd just seen a ghost. What the hell was wrong with him?


	4. Awkwarrrddd

Frank took a deep breath as he marched into _Bill's_ the following Saturday.

Just walk in there and act like nothing ever happened, that's the only way to do this.

He had literally been avoiding the little prick - even doing U-turns in the corridors to escape him - ever since last week when… you know.

I mean, he wasn't nervous or nothing. Just… confused. Or something. I dunno. It was weird.

But it was all the fag's fault.

Little shit.

Thankfully, as Frank stormed through the restaurant, he couldn't see any sign of _him _anywhere; not arrogantly leaning against the counter, not hovering incessantly about the tables, not even laughing shrilly with the cooks. Frank allowed himself a small smile. Maybe he wasn't coming in today. Maybe he was ill. Maybe he had quit. Thank fuck. Then he would never have to face him ever agai…

And Frank had spoken too soon, for as he slouched round the corner into the tiny back room where their lockers were, there he was. Fucking standing there like he fucking owned the place. Big headed wanker.

No, stop it.

Act cool.

Frank took yet another deep breath and, refusing to let his hesitation show any more than it might already have done, purposefully entered heading in a beeline for his locker, not caring if the door banged just a little bit as it swung open.

Bang! Stephen's head shot up, to see none other than Grayson storming into the back room, only slightly late. God, he was so conceited – parading around like he fucking owned the place. Urgh. What a twat.

He didn't even say anything – this could get incredibly awkward.

There was only one thing for it – do what Brits do best. Force uncomfortable small talk for the sake of socially expected politeness and decency.

Stephen internally sighed. Then:

"Hiya Grayson!" he exclaimed, trying to keep his voice as pleasant as possible.

What the fuck did the bitch think he was doing? Who said that he could talk to Frank? Who said that he could greet Frank with 'Hiya'? Cocky fucker. Well. Well then. If this was how he was gonna play it.

"Alright." He returned, evenly, keeping his voice as empty as possible.

Stephen inwardly sighed – could the boy not even try? So… so… full of himself. Either way, Stephen was going to carry this through. "How's your week?"

Was he really gonna do this… Fine. "Alright." Frank stated again. There was a pause. Then. "Yours?"

"Yeh…" Stephen stuttered, shocked at the gesture. "Pretty good thanks."

"Cool."

"Yeh."

Fucking hell, this was so awkward.

"So should we…"

"Isn't it time…."

They both began at the same time.

Then they both stopped.

There was another grating pause.

And then.

"Yep."

"Ok."

Seriously? This was ridiculous. Why was the even affecting him so much? Frank internally yelled. What the fuck was this poof doing?

Well... this was just so weird, he was never usually like this? Usually he could eloquently blab his way out of anything... How was Frank Grayson having such a big affect on him that he was becoming a tongue-tied illiterate?

Together, they both turned away to hide their matching blushes, before hurriedly exiting the small room with its too close walls and too tight ceiling, nearly bumping into each other in the too thin doorway…

Fuck.

Could this get any worse?

…

Rule number one of life: never ask that question because, yes, it always can.


	5. STRESS

It was coming up to midday so the staff would usually have been preparing themselves for peak time. But, today, it was only half 12 and there was no time for preparation due to the fact that the restaurant was already nearly full. What was going on? Either way, neither Frank nor Stephen really had time to wonder, as they were being rushed off their feet seating newcomers, collecting orders, serving dishes, then cleaning away and laying another place just to begin all over again. There was barely enough staff to function on a normal day; they had never even considered the horrors of a busy day before!

Frank sighed as he glanced up, only to see yet another dressed-up couple wander through the doors. He hurried forward to greet them and show them to a table, only to be intercepted by Stephen. Little prick. Always in the way. Instead, Frank headed over to the kitchens to pick up some dishes for a different table. God. This required so much thought and effort.

Stephen noticed a particularly finely attired man with an equally divine woman arriving and dashed over to meet them with a smile and pleasantries. He gestured them over to a table in the corner, offered them menus, before heading over to the kitchens.

Frank gathered a plate in each hand and swiftly turned to exit the kitchen. However, he had momentarily forgotten that the doorway in and out was so small – it was only the third week after all – and hadn't been anticipating another person being there. Too surprised to remark on this turn of events, he wobbled instead, as was only natural, and felt the world go into slow motion as one of the plates began to slip.

Stephen had perhaps been travelling a little too fast as he rushed into the kitchens, forgetting that the entrance was so tight, and practically bumped right into none other than Frank Grayson. It would have been fine, if not a little awkward, had Grayson not been laden with platters. As it was, he lost his balance, resulting in the loss of control of one of the dishes. Stephen stared as he saw it start to slide, further and further out of Grayson's grasp.

All in a blur, Stephen felt his instincts kick in and he darted forwards to catch the falling food, in the process stepping a bit closer to Grayson than was perhaps socially acceptable. He felt their arms and legs collide while their chests were only separated by the selection of meals.

Frank started as he felt the same someone who had caused him to lose his balance in the first place dart closer to assist with the near catastrophe of the falling plate. A jolt of electricity shot through Frank's skin as it brushed against his saviour's, and he glanced up, curiously, only to find… Stephen.

Of course it would be Stephen that was causing him such problems.

Their eyes met.

And there it was again – this shock of heat between the pair of them.

Frank's mouth dropped open just a little and Stephen felt his body push against Grayson's, without consent from his brain.

An audible, simultaneous, shaky breath could be heard by both.

And then just like that, another waiter walked in and the moment broke, like the sheen of a bubble, bursting all around them and releasing them back into reality.

The guy gave them a funny look – bearing in mind they were usually at each other's throats – before raising one eyebrow suggestively.

"We were just…"

"Er plates and stuff…"

They both blurted, moving apart, although making sure the escapee plate was safely supported.

"Whatever." The boy grinned, dropping a wink and hurrying back out again.

Back out. Out to the restaurant. Where people were waiting to be served. Lots of people. Waiting to be served. By Stephen and Frank. OK. Yes. Right. Right then.

"I need to get these to people." Frank pointed out harshly. Then took a breath, checking himself. "Move out my way, you fat faggot." He shoved his way past Stephen and out.

"You're welcome." Stephen muttered sarcastically. God that boy was so rude and so fucking full of himself, and so clumsy and ugly and distracted and disgusting and… hot?

No. No he wasn't. He wasn't hot. He was Frank Grayson, remember? Yeh. Frank Grayson.

Ergh. What the fuck was wrong with him? Frank internally questioned as he brushed himself off after delivering the plates. Although whether he was talking about Stephen or himself, he wasn't entirely sure. Just don't think about it, he vowed.

Instead, he busied his mind with focusing on serving and working and smiling and being a good little waiter boy and just generally anything and everything that was not Stephen Carmichael. He dashed between the tables, keeping himself occupied, always here and there getting orders. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Stephen was doing exactly the same, often passing straight by him, but refused to let himself dwell on that. He would not think of the fag. He would not think of him at all.

But why was it then, that whenever he had a moment where he paused to survey the room, his eyes would always search out Stephen? Why would the hair on the back of his neck raise whenever he knew the Stephen was passing by? Why would his mind flicker back to Stephen's smile and Stephen's eyes whenever he saw anyone else happy? It just didn't fucking make sense.

So, in return, he worked even harder. Not giving himself a second to pause or break, because then his thoughts would wander to Stephen and the way that he was prancing through the tables, elegantly and gracefully, like it was a dance as opposed to a mad swerving this way and that, as it was for Frank. Because they totally weren't wandering anywhere near those areas of thought. Ever. Aha. Nope.

Frank shook his head thoroughly and darted towards another table with another order to collect. However, he really should have been paying more attention to his surroundings because, all of a sudden, he found himself colliding with someone.

Stephen paraded through the tables with two glasses of the finest wine _Bill's _could offer for the particularly fine couple all dolled up in a smart suit and a dress which he had introduced earlier. And they were paying a good deal too. Goodness, his tip was going to be amazing. He was just reaching their table, when suddenly, he felt a bump to his back.

Fuck. No. Red wine and clothes do not go.

In order to keep his balance therefore, Stephen had to do a little twirl on the spot and twist around, pressing himself to the wall to steady his hands before continuing on.

"Watch it!" he threw over his shoulder.

"Sorry…" came the reply in Grayson's grumbling tone as he passed by.

The realisation hit them at the same time. They turned to face each other accusatorily.

"Why does this keep happening?" Stephen exclaimed suddenly.

Several tables of nearby people looked round in surprise, so Stephen grabbed Grayson's arm and pulled him back to the wall, further away from customers.

"Cos you're so… you know… you're always… in the way… and stuff." Grayson glared. "It's all your fault."

Cos it was. It was always freaking Carmichael causing all the problems in his life.

"It is not!" Stephen protested, losing his calm composure at the sheer injustice of it all and stepping in towards Grayson angrily.

"Yes it is. Cos it's always you." Frank returned the gesture, not one to back down.

"No. It's always you! It's all your fault. You're so clumsy and going way too fast – learn to control yourself." Stephen retorted sticking his nose in the air and stepping forwards again.

"I can too control myself." Frank scowled right in Stephen's face.

"Pah. You're all over the place. I still don't understand why they even hired you." Stephen spat, not even understanding why he was getting so caught up in this when it was only Frank Grayson, getting as much in Grayson's personal space as possible to unnerve him.

Frank felt the strange urge to press his lips against Stephen's. They were just so close…

"Fuck off." Frank snarled and shoved Stephen's shoulder.

Forgetting about the two glasses of wine that he was holding.

And the fact that their bodies were incredibly close together.

They watched as the purpling liquid sloshed over the edges of the dainty glasses, splattering over both Stephen and Frank's white shirts, staining them red.

"Now look what the fuck you've done!" Stephen cried.

"I've done! You were holding the glasses! It's your wine!" Frank shouted incredulously.

"You pushed me!"

"Only a little."

"A little!"

"You're obviously not suitable to be put in charge of such dangerous substances right now. You need to calm down and give the wine to me." Frank crooned patronisingly.

"I need to calm down?! There is no fucking way I am giving this to you; you'll probably smash everything. You're a highly unstable psychopath who takes joy in causing other people pain. That's why you're doing everything you're doing, isn't it? To cause me complete and utter pain. Cos you're a fucking madman."

"Coming from the one screeching like an insane person! Here gimme those. I don't trust you."

Frank lunged for the considerably emptier glasses.

"Get off!"

"No!"

"Look, I'm going to deliver these to my customers and there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

Stephen marched out from their hidey hole, heading straight for the corner table.

Frank darted out after him, reaching him just as he approached a table seating a smug couple.

His hand shot out, just as Stephen stopped and then everything happened at once and the next thing anyway knew was that the stuck up man in the smart suit with a bow tie and briefcase was now covered in a sticky, staining layer of Pinot Noire.

Stephen froze. Even Frank didn't dare move.

"What is the meaning of this?" the man asked, jaw tight with supressed tension.

"I am so sorry, sir." Stephen apologised, practically whimpering.

"Indeed. As well you might be. This is atrocious. I would like the bill now please. Thank you very much."

"No, no, your meal is completely free of charge. That is our apology for the inconvenience."

"Inconvenience, huh? Just a little bit of an… inconvenience." The man muttered tightly before standing up and leaving with his glamourous partner in tow.

Stephen and Frank stared, shocked, after him.

Then their eyes travelled together across the room to where their boss was standing, looking right at them and shaking his head.

"Oh fuck." Frank muttered.

"What are we gonna do?" Stephen blushed.

There was a pause.

Then, "It was your fault." Frank spat.


	6. The Locker Room

Thankfully, their boss didn't fire them, but he was pretty angry, as well he might have been – 3rd week in and they'd already caused a major customer to storm out after a serious spillage. He'd told them off and then told them to go and get changed but only after they had cleaned up the mess.

Surprisingly, Frank volunteered to tidy it all up, mainly because he didn't think he could bear to be anywhere close to Stephen right now without wanting to scream at him, shake him, punch him or… No there wasn't a fourth option… Aha… No. It was just Frank's brain being weird in the heat of the moment. He didn't want to kiss him. Hah. Just scream and shake and punch. Yeh.

So instead he got to work on the floor and the table, and even a bit on the wall from where they had fought earlier. The scrubbing actually helped to get his anger out and he was almost sad when he was done. But he was pretty sure he had taken long enough for Stephen to have left by now.

He wandered over to the broom cupboard and replaced all the instruments of cleaning, before heading to his locker. His mind was buzzing with thought, trying to process his… feelings and everything. God. Stephen made him so angry. And he felt like such an utter fool. And he didn't even really know why he did it. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Stephen tugged his shirt off crossly; aware that he was probably taking way too long to sort himself out, but his brain was all over the place. What was it about Frank Grayson that made him so repulsed and mad and confused and intrigued all at the same time? It was absolute insanity, and yet he could not stop thinking about the boy.

Frank barged into the locker room, his whirling thoughts riling him up into a fit of anger, and slammed his fist against the metal of his locker, making a satisfying clanging noise.

Stephen's head shot up as Frank stormed in, disrupting his internal torment. He tried to ignore him and look away, but a viscous banging noise brought his attention right back.

Suddenly, Frank became aware of someone else's presence in the room and whipped around to see Stephen sitting there.

Stephen.

He almost laughed, because it just had to be Stephen.

And then he blinked, slightly shocked, as his eyes adapted and he realised what he was actually seeing. Stephen was sitting there, yes. But Stephen was sitting there… topless. As in… without a top. Chest and stomach and arms bared to the world. Frank tried his very best not to stare, but he just couldn't help himself; Stephen's body was like an expanse of caramel silk, flowing over a firm layer of woven chocolate. It was utterly flawless, each and every muscle defined and pronounced; arms, chest, stomach, everything, worked to absolute perfection.

Frank felt the blood flush to his face and he turned away, trying to pass it off as anger by accompanying it with a scowl. What. Was. Happening.

The tension in the room was thick and stifling. Stephen could feel his heart pounding, but he wasn't entirely sure why - he wasn't scared or anything. He guessed Grayson was just very intimidating, red in the face with anger as he was.

Tentatively, Stephen stood up.

"Are you… ok?" he tried.

Frank's head whipped round upon hearing Stephen's voice. It took him a moment to process it – his brain was a mess right now…. But ok? OK? Of course he wasn't fucking ok!

"Never been better." He hissed.

Stephen hovered awkwardly, unsure what to do.

"Boys." Came a call from their boss. "If you leave your shirts here we'll put them in a special wash to remove the stains. We're not going to lie; this happens a lot."

Well, that made Stephen feel marginally better.

"Ok, thank you!" he shouted back, collecting his top.

Frank froze. They wanted him to strip. Here? Now? In front of Stephen? Fucking Stephen with his fucking perfect body. No fucking way.

"Er. Frank?" Stephen hinted. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeh. Sure. Whatever." Frank gabbled.

He hesitated, before turning away from Stephen to tug his top over his head and replace it immediately with a new one from his locker.

Stephen happened to glance over – pure chance, I swear – just as Grayson removed his stained shirt. And he was struck by how his muscles rippled in the artificial lighting, undulating over his shoulder blades. And his arms, oh his arms, all stretched taut and bulging… But all too soon, he had covered it with another layer and Stephen almost sighed. Why couldn't he have turned around and let him appreciate the front?

Wait… what.

Frank spun around and chucked his top at Stephen, refusing to even look him in the eye.

Stephen noticed something being hurled at him and caught it on instinct, blinking harshly to come out of his reverie.

Frank noticed Stephen looking pointedly at him and shrugged.

"Thanks?" he muttered.

Stephen stared.

Had he heard correctly? Had Frank Grayson really just said 'Thanks'? To him?

"You're welcome." Stephen garbled.

There was a pause. An unsettlingly meaningful, thick pause.

"Whatever man, I ain't bothered." Frank blurted, not liking this new tension between them; it wasn't the sort of angry tension he was used to.

"Course you're not." Stephen returned evenly, surprising both Frank and himself – what the hell was he even saying right now? It was just sort of coming out of his mouth and he wasn't even aware.

Wow. Passive aggressive much. It was strange because Frank actually preferred it to normal Stephen; at least here he knew where he stood. And it was almost… nice? No. Er. Hot?

Wait… what the actual fuck? Pah. No. Shut the fuck up brain. Shut the fuck up you arrogant little faggoty maggoty fuck face.

"The fuck?" Frank pressed, daring him to continue, anger brewing possibly more from his previous thought than Stephen's actual response.

"I dunno." Stephen retreated – shit he hadn't meant for this.

"Well then shut your fucking mouth until you do." Frank's voice rose just a little bit.

He knew this was neither the time nor place, but this fag was just pissing him off and Frank didn't understand what the fuck was going on with his head. But he knew his way around a fight, he could deal with a fight. Just not with these weird… feelings.

Ok seriously, this boy had problems like Stephen had barely said anything and suddenly he's all up and raging. Someone really needed to put him in his place.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want." Frank growled, rounding on Stephen and stepping in closer.

"You're so immature!" Stephen literally could not believe his ears, also stepping forwards, refusing to appear weak.

"You're so arrogant!"

"Hah. Coming from you?"

"Have you seen yourself?"

"Oh my god, I could literally murder you right now."

"I'd like to see you try… you little faggot."

Stephen stumbled, unsure what to say, and a pause rested upon the pair.

Somehow in the heat of the moment they'd ended up face to face and chest to chest, practically screaming in each other's faces. They were both breathing incredibly heavily, bodies heaving from the effort.

And then Frank felt it again; the urge to lunge forward and kiss the fucking shit out of the fag. Trying his best to restrain himself, his eyes widened as he realised their proximity.

Stephen swore for a second he felt something in the air between them, like a flicker of a spark… or something. It was weird. But kinda nice… No definitely just weird, stop it brain. This was Frank Grayson.

But then he saw Grayson's face appear to move just a bit closer, and he felt his body automatically responding – leaning up to…

"BOYS?" came a shout.

"Gah!" Stephen blurted, blinking manically and grabbing both tops, dashing out of the room.

Frank stared after him, not quite comprehending what was happening.

Had he really just…?

No.

No he hadn't.

It was all in his head.

But?

No.

He wouldn't even think about it.

Instead he grabbed his stuff and stormed out, mind set on finding something to punch and someone to wedgy.

Stephen chucked the tops into the washing machine before standing back and leaning against the wall. He rested his head back as he sighed and tried to sort out what the fuck had just happened… or nearly happened. Or whatever.

Like seriously.

Did Frank Grayson just…

Did he nearly…

Did he want…?

No.

Frank Grayson was a bully.

An absolute horrific bully.

Wasn't he?

But then… why did he just lean in to kiss Stephen?

…

And why did Stephen want him to?


	7. Speak of the Devil

You know when you say words over and over again, so much so that they start to sound funny and lose all meaning. Well, Stephen was pretty sure that's what had happened with the mantra he had been mentally chanting all week which consisted mainly of

"He's Frank Grayson. This is Frank Grayson you're thinking about. Frank Grayson. Frank fucking Grayson."

He was internally repeating this as he marched down the school corridor on a Friday morning. He didn't know how he was going to manage seeing him again at work, and try and carry on as if nothing had happened. He guessed it was time to bring out those acting skills. It was just so weird how barely even a month ago, he wouldn't have thought twice about Frank Grayson – he had always been that big, bad bully that Stephen just steered well clear of – but now? Stephen wasn't sure about anything anymore.

He was so caught up in this inner torment that he didn't notice everyone else shifting to the sides of the corridor in sudden, nervous movements, or the hushed tone that had overtaken the entire area. In fact, it was only a harsh bump into something – someone – that knocked him back into reality.

"Oh, sorry babes." Stephen muttered, glancing up at the offending party.

To find the one and only Frank Grayson.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Well speak - or think or whatever - of the devil and he shall appear.

And Fra – Grayson – was definitely the devil.

What is it they always say… something about a devil? Gah, whatever. Basically Frank should have known this was gonna happen with the amount that he had been thinking about freaking Carmichael. It was inevitable. He sighed, not knowing what to do – whether he should act tough and distant for his reputation or acknowledge the fact that Carmichael and he had something going on. Not anything like that nah mate haha hahahahah no. But just. Something. Cos it was something. Right?

A tense silence hovered; people in the corridor literally completely stopping.

Stephen froze, not knowing how Grayson was gonna react. Seriously, that boy was highly unstable. Probably safer to let him take the lead. Like Stephen knew in his mind that he was gonna act all tough and rude and shit… but maybe, just maybe, he might consider actually being a decent person? For once? And you know accepting that there was something different about them now? Maybe even demonstrating that something by… no let's not get carried away.

Frank sighed inwardly, then snarled; he had committed himself to this image so he really had no other choice.

He took a deep breath, allowing the cold to take over, turning his eyes to sheens of glass and his emotions to ice, shutting him down.

"You're in my way… faggot."

Frank hated himself just a little bit more with every word he spoke.

Of course. No. Stephen shouldn't have expected anything else. Hah. He was kidding himself to think that Grayson was anything other than a despicable, immature bully.

He was about to relent and step aside, when he felt something spark inside of him, like an angry flame.

Grayson wouldn't actually dare carry through his horrific acts towards Stephen… would he? For all his bravado, he couldn't look Stephen in the eyes and treat him like just another of his Year 7 pickings. Not now? Surely. Come on… Stephen just needed to prove that there was something… ANYTHING, that made Grayson look at him differently to everyone else. For the sake of his own sanity.

Stephen took a deep breath, focusing on this spark and letting it heat up his whole body, lighting flames in his eyes and setting fire to his emotions, driving him forwards.

"Maybe you're in mine."

Frank's eyes shot wide open. What the fuck did he think he was doing? He had gotten cocky from all those arguments at work, but here Frank could stand up to Stephen properly, you know. Without fear of getting sacked. This was his territory. His realm. His rule.

"Watch it, gayboy." He hissed. "Wouldn't want to step out of line now would we?"

"Honey, I think I penetrated that line a long time ago."

Frank felt his face flush, even if he wasn't entirely sure what Stephen was implying. This wouldn't do.

He grabbed Carmichael's shoulders and slammed his body against the lockers.

People were really staring now.

Ouch… That hurt… Stephen complained. Focus on the fire. Look him in the eyes.

"If you wanted to play rough, sugar, all you had to do was ask."

"The fuck are you trynna say, Glee?"

Ah. Now here was the problem. Stephen wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to say. Things were just coming out of his mouth and he couldn't stop them.

And it felt...

Amazing.

Was it strange that the one person he really should be terrified of was the one person that gave him the most confidence?

"Whatever you want me to be saying, baby."

Stephen raised one eyebrow. Frank glared.

"I want you to shut the fuck up. How about that?"

"Hmmm… not what you said last night."

Stephen received another shove into the lockers for that, but it was worth it.

Seriously, what the fuck was this poof doing? When did he get so freaking full of himself… and, and so confident. And so… dominant? It was almost… attractive?

But this couldn't go on and there was no way for it to end; neither would be willing to back down and there was no way that Frank could beat him up.

So he leant really close and whispered into Stephen's ear

"Look scared at what I'm saying to you." They had to keep up the act. "Now tell me what the actual freaking helling fuck do you think you are fucking doing?"

"I dunno." Stephen played along, looking scared and everything; after all, he did love a good show, but allowed his whisper to carry confidence.

"You dunno… You dunno! Do you have any idea how much of an impact this could have on my street cred? Did you even consider that? Or is everything just fun and games to you, up in fairyland?! You better fucking back down right now or I swear to God I will… I will…"

"What? What will you do? There's nothing you can do. Because you can't look me in the eyes and beat me up like all those other poor people you do that to. Because I actually fucking mean something to you now. Admit it."

Stephen blurted in desperate whispers before coming to a halt, realising what he just said.

There was a shocked pause from the both of them in which they became aware of their heavy breathing and the heavy tension. Adding to this were the weighing stares piling on from spectators.

And this was what reminded Frank that he had a part to play and lies to tell.

"I will admit nothing. Nothing's changed between us. You mean nothing to me." You big-headed, arrogant, beautiful twat.

Stephen just shrugged, even though that stung like a bitch. Now he just had to find a way to end this, preferably favouring him. And then it struck him.

"Whatever. Either way, you're gonna let this go, or I will out you to all your 'friends' and that will be the end of all the street cred you've ever had."

"And how do you expect to do that?" Frank sneered.

"Kiss you."

Frank nearly spluttered.

"What?"

"I'll kiss you and then you can see how everyone takes it that bully Grayson is actually Queen Stephen's toy-boy."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?"

To prove his point, Stephen leant in just a little bit. Just to prove his point. Nothing else… Nothing. Cough.

Frank literally had to force himself away in a jerked jump to keep from mirroring him.

"Whatever." He announced, coming out of their hushed tones. "Try that again dickhead and you're dead meat."

For effect, he shunted Stephen once again into the lockers before storming off.

Stephen tugged his jacket back on properly, allowing himself only the smallest victory smile as he strolled off to class.

Man, he could not wait for Saturday.


	8. When Push Comes to Shove

If asked about this later on Frank would have denied all aspects to the possibility - and then probably have slammed the nosy fucker into the nearest hard-looking object for good measure - but he was wearing a certain quirk to the mouth that could almost be considered a smile as he strolled into _Bill's _early Saturday morning – actually on time for once. He'd come round to the realisation that this job was pretty decent and he was perhaps in fact enjoying working here. (Plus, he really needed the cash.)

But this had nothing to do with a certain co-worker who just did not seem to stop getting on Frank's nerves. And that showdown in school had been the last straw; he would have absolutely no more to do with that scum than was necessary. And this time he meant it. This time he would properly carry it through and not, you know, forget the minute that he saw the fag. It wasn't his fault that there was just something about the little poof that… I dunno… was… interesting to Frank? That Frank perhaps, you know, kinda liked? … Not in that way, he weren't a faggot, but just… something?

But no. He would have absolutely no more to do with that scum. Absolutely nothing. Yes. Nothing. Ok, brain? Ok, body? Ok? Okaayy…..

And then he saw Stephen bending over a table to wipe it and suddenly he forgot everything he had just been thinking. Hell he forgot everything he had ever known. He just stopped walking, put into a slight shock mode, staring at his body moving over the hard, wooden table.

Then suddenly, Stephen stood up and turned around and immediately Frank was forced to march up to him and whisper "Faggot" in his ear.

Because otherwise Stephen would have seen him staring. And otherwise he would have known.

But seriously? There went his resolve to stay away from him.

Again.

The perhaps-maybe smile that had possibly-sort of been spread across Frank's face barely two minutes ago had gone, and in its place was a dark frown that was set to stay for the rest of the day as he stormed into the locker room to get ready.

Stephen had ended up getting to _Bill's _half an hour early. For no reason. Hah. No reason at all. Especially not a reason that was male, blond with the most gorgeously dreamy brown eyes. Haha. Nope. Although… on the topic of a certain bully, Stephen was having er problems, I guess. It was just weird because, well, he should hate him… I mean, he did hate him… but then why did he want to see him, to be around him as much as possible? Why did he enjoy their little fights so much? Gah. It was all so messed up!

It was spot on 9:00 as he finished wiping down a table when he became aware of Grayson's presence behind him. He wasn't even sure how he could feel the mood shift in the room, but it just sort of did, and before he really knew what he was doing, he spun around to face him with the idea of emphasising his dominant confidence yet again – shoulders back, head up, slight smirking smile on your face – and remind him of his triumph in the school standoff.

Only to find him standing glaring at him before striding purposefully forwards. Stephen's confidence immediately dissipated.

"Faggot." Frank hissed as he hurried past.

Stephen turned sadly to watch him walk away, feeling his whole body sag as though it had been emptied of all delirious energy just with that one word.

Oh fuck him.

Thankfully, _Bill's _filled up quickly so little or no communication was needed between the pair. However, after that morning encounter, Frank's good mood had evaporated, leaving behind a dry, constant anger that hovered about him as he moved through the restaurant. He felt this empty annoyance weighing down his body and so slouched about the place like a depressed bear. And every time he passed Stephen, he would barge him with his shoulder, or shove him just a little, and whisper the same word.

"Fag."

He didn't care if that meant he came across as a stroppy ten year-old.

Because Frank was not a fag. Frank did not have any feelings whatsoever for this bullshitty, arrogant little turd that thought he could fuck up the entirety of Frank's life. Hah. Sucker. How wrong he was. He had no effect on Frank whatsoever. Pah. So much for your horrific plan, then. Yeh, fuck you. You little poof.

Stephen sighed as, yet again, Grayson elbowed him in the back as he passed. There was something seriously wrong with that boy. He was surprised that he had lasted this long in the job to be honest as you can't just bully your way through the hospitality business. But it looked like today was gonna be interesting; something had put him in a completely foul mood. Stephen wanted to flatter himself and declare that it was all because of his victory yesterday, but it couldn't be. He didn't mean that much to Grayson. Just like Grayson didn't mean anything to him.

Frank delivered yet more plates with a strained smile and an empty pleasantry. He turned to another table. Took an order. Strained smile and an empty pleasantry. Seat a family. Strained smile and an empty pleasantry. Bring the bill. Strained smile and an empty pleasantry. Pass Stephen. Viscous push and a ferocious insult. Deliver plates. Strained smile and an empty pleasantry.

It was kinda sad in a way… Usually, he enjoyed all the socialising. All the smiling and waving and pretending that nothing was wrong. Greeting and talking, maybe even making a joke. Because if you pretended for long enough and well enough then not only did you fool everybody else, but you could also fool yourself. But not today.

He noticed yet another needy bugger searching round, obviously trying to attract attention. He took a deep breath, attempted a smile, and slowly made his way over.

"Sir?" he asked, through gritted teeth.

"There's something wrong with my food." The man stated bluntly, even though he had eaten all of it but a chip, a corner of steak and a leaf of salad.

"What appears to be the problem?" Frank asked monotonously. "Sir?" he added as an afterthought.

"It's just not quite right. I demand another plate and a refund."

Frank had to close his eyes momentarily to prevent himself from lashing out.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, sir, as you have consumed most of it."

"And? That's not my fault!" the man returned, raising his voice slightly and standing up.

Frank became aware that several customers were now watching.

Stephen heard a bellowing voice from somewhere across the room and glanced over to see a large man with a red face fuming at Grayson. Grayson, on his part, was doing well at restraint, but Stephen knew the signs – having, of late, often been the cause of them – and the twitching fingers and the sharp tilts of the head were indicating his frustration. He excused himself from a customer and began hurrying over, only to hear the man shouting.

"You will get me another plate and you will get me a refund! Now!"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible." Frank repeated, getting really fed up. If this scumbag dared to press this any further… then he didn't think he would be able to hold it in anymore and would have to give in to his instinct to slam the fucker's head against the table.

"Well, make it possible. Because I want another plate!" the man yelled. "And a refund!" he added. "Because this food is absolutely appalling!"

"So why do you want another plate then?" Frank challenged, feeling himself losing control.

The man stuttered.

"You can't speak to me like that... You can't treat _me _like that! I'm the customer here! You arrogant, little bastard. Now go and get me a refund and another plate."

"I can speak to you how I want. You sneaky, greedy arsehole!" Frank roared.

"What did you call me?"

The whole restaurant was listening now.

"A sneaky, greedy arsehole. You fat shit."

With a cry the man lunged forward but Frank was so ready for this. He raised his fist, taking perfect aim onto the man's nose, and was just about to make the killer swing, when suddenly someone grabbed his arm.

"Frank no!" Stephen cried, gripping the lunatic's bulging bicep with all the strength he could muster.

"Fuck off me, you faggot." Frank spat in surprise.

Who the fuck did the bitch think he was? Coming in here and getting in the way of everything? He should just let him live his own life and deal with his own problems. And fuck the hell off.

Well… that hurt. But Stephen was determined not to let him do this. The madman was simply caught up in his rage, like he so often became, and didn't really know what he was doing… or consider what the consequences would be. He would definitely get fired, if he wasn't already, and possibly also arrested. Jesus Christ. This boy was so difficult.

Frank struggled with all of his will against the poof, but, for a gay, he was actually incredibly strong. Must be all those dancer's muscles. Of course. Dammit. For no matter how much Frank pushed him and tried to lash out at him, Stephen just kept his arms tightly behind his back and, slowly, began to pull him away.

The man had initially moved to pursue Frank, but, one look from Stephen, and he backed down. There was something authoritative in Stephen's frown that made him step away and glare from a distance instead.

"Calm down." Stephen kept muttering. "Just calm down."

Frank's replies were usually obscenities, but gradually they became less and less offensive and less and less frequent. When he finally fell silent, Stephen cautiously looked at him.

"Are you ok now?" he hesitantly asked.

Frank looked at him for a second, blankly, his mind whirring. Fucking hell, this was insane. Had he really just…? And had Stephen just…? Fuck. This was mad. But Stephen was looking at him with those fucking beautiful eyes. Looking at him. Waiting. Why was he waiting? Oh. For an answer… cos he'd asked a question… what was the question? Oh fuck. Er. Ok. Was he ok? No he wasn't fucking ok. And who the fuck did the fag think he was? Coming here and… you know… asking that and doing this and that and everything? What? His mind was such a mess. He couldn't possibly answer right now.

So instead, he did what he did best; gathered all the strength he could and pushed him away.


	9. Thank You Stephen

Frank stormed into the locker room, breathing heavily. He really shouldn't have done that. He just got so wound up sometimes and had a hard time trying to keep it all in. Oh fuck… what if he got fired? Ah fucking hell.

He slammed his fist against the locker.

And who the fuck did the little faggoty poofing bitchface think he was? Barging in there and making everything ten times worse. I mean, so what if he'd stopped Frank doing whatever? It wasn't his place to stop him! He wasn't his parent or brother or friend so why did he even care so much? Just fuck off back to twinkletown, I don't fucking care.

This time he slammed his forehead against the locker.

Ouch that hurt.

So he did it again.

And again.

Stephen heard a relentless clanging coming from the locker room where Frank had just charged into. He glanced across at all his colleagues, who all motioned with their heads for him to go in, terrified looks on their faces. One of them mouthed "Go on, you're good with him." Stephen just shrugged.

Well. Here goes nothing.

Cautiously, he peered into the room.

"Grayson?" he asked gently.

"Didn't I tell you to fuck off?" Frank replied gruffly - seriously? Didn't this guy know when to stop?

"Yeh but… you know." Stephen muttered awkwardly.

"No I don't know."

Why did Stephen even bother? Grayson was always so rude and insolent.

"Thought you might need a…" Stephen hesitated. What were they? They weren't really friends? "Thought you just might want some company."

"I don't want anything from you." Ok. So Frank was aware that he sounded so immature right now. But. Come on.

"Gah. I give up!" Stephen exclaimed.

"Finally! Thank you!" Frank returned right back. Now fuck off, he added mentally.

"You're bloody welcome!" Stephen snarled sarcastically, rounding on Grayson. "And do you know what else you're welcome for? For not getting into an ugly fight with some fat, old man in the middle of a restaurant? For not getting freaking arrested! For not getting sacked from your job! So, yes, thank you so much, Stephen. You know what Grayson? You're fucking welcome!"

Wow.

Even Stephen wasn't entirely sure where that amount of angry confidence came from.

Grayson was staring at him with these wide eyes, like he had just grown another head or something.

Maybe he had.

He doubted he'd know right now with the crazy feelings bashing around his head and heart and body.

Either way. Whatever. Screw Grayson. He was done with all his shit.

He spun round, marching forwards, past Grayson, towards the door.

When suddenly he felt someone grab his wrist, swinging him back round.

Frank looked up at him, then looked down to his hand which was clutching Stephen's, and then back up. He took a deep breath, suddenly unsure of himself.

He stood up, nervously.

"Thank you, Stephen." He said quietly, looking Stephen right in the eyes as he spoke. "Thank you for stopping me. Thank you for not letting me get myself arrested. Thank you for my job. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Frank." Stephen could feel himself melting, and smiled.

He felt Frank let go of his arm and almost felt sad about the loss of contact. He watched as Frank slowly sat down, then looked up at him as if to check he was still there and listening.

"It's just… difficult. Like. I've never done anything like this before. Not like a proper, honest job. One where you can't intimidate your way around. Where fighting and guns and contacts aren't all that matter. Where you actually earn honest money from honest work doing proper hours and all that stuff. And it's really fucking weird. Cos I actually really fucking like it."

Frank took a deep breath. Stephen smiled encouragingly at him, sitting next to him even. But then Frank looked down, breaking the eye contact.

"And now I'm gonna get sacked and it's all gonna go to shit. Gah. My Dad is gonna get so fucking pissed off. The hypocritical bastard. Ah fucking hell… Fucking hell… Shit! What am I gonna do about money? They're still gonna pay me everything that I've already earned right? Fuck I really need the money. And just… Fucking hell, Stephen, I've fucked everything up. Just when it could possibly have been ok. Like it was actually alright… it was actually _good. _But no. Of course. My Dad was right. Everyone was fucking right. I can't keep a proper, honest job. What the fuck was I thinking? I got my hopes up for shit all… What the fuck am I gonna do, Stephen?"

Stephen's heart skipped a beat when he heard Frank say his name. His proper name. Not poof or fag or gayboy. And not because he had to. Because he had chosen to.

And then Frank looked up at Stephen with these big, terrified, melting eyes and Stephen was pretty sure his heart skipped so many beats that it just completely stopped. Along with time. And breathing. And the world. And just everything.

"Err…" he breathed, eloquent as ever. "Let me talk to them. I'll see what I can do. Don't worry. It will be ok. Er. Frank."

And with that he backed out of the room, barely turning the corner before having to rest his head against the wall. What the hell was that? And what the hell had he gotten himself into? He just knew that he couldn't let Gra – Frank – get sacked. Not after that. He would do whatever it freaking took.

Jesus Christ. What the fuck was that? Spilling his guts out to the fa – to Stephen – like a fucking wuss. But Frank almost smiled as he put his head in his hands. Because, for some reason, 'spilling his guts out to Stephen like a wuss' had made him feel so much better. Like a massive weight had been taken off his shoulders. And it had felt kinda nice? To talk to him. To have him look at him like he wasn't just another high-school failing bully. Fuck. What the fuck had he gotten himself into?


	10. The Bubble Battle

Frank waited anxiously all week but no news came of his imminent sacking and so he decided to just go to work as normal on Saturday and see what happened. He cautiously wandered through the doors, vaguely worried that someone might just jump at him and shove him back out again. But he made it through into the locker room without incident. Naturally, there was no one else in there; either they all got there incredibly early or there was some sort of law that no one had told Frank, about getting to your job before the time you're meant to. He sorted himself out then walked back into the main restaurant, joining the rest of the staff, including Stephen. He tried to catch his eye and ask him how he managed everything, but their boss started speaking and it was impossible. Not wanting to upset them any more than he already had, he listened intently.

For the rest of the day, Frank kept trying to find a moment where he could ask Stephen what had happened, but either Stephen was avoiding him or Frank was just very unlucky, because he never found even a chance. However, everyone else seemed to know something that he didn't.

Stephen kept his head down at work on Saturday. He was pretty sure that everyone knew by now what he had done – or claimed to have done – apart from Frank, and he would like to keep it that way. So he stayed out of everyone's way, feeling their degrading stares, and especially dodging Frank so that he would never have to tell him anything. Because he just knew that Frank would be angry.

Ok. This was getting ridiculous. Stephen was literally doing U-turns to avoid Frank. And the way that everyone else was looking at him. What the hell was going on?

Phew. Only five minutes to go and then Stephen was free and had managed to survive the day without too many problems. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Frank would find out sooner or later, but he convinced himself that everything would go back to normal next week and he simply had to get through the day.

Suddenly, the boss called them all over. "Right." He announced. "Stephen, could I ask you to stay behind; you're being put on cleaning tonight. Everyone else is free to go."

Stephen sighed and nodded obligingly. He should have known that there would be something.

Frank blinked. That was weird. Normally everyone had to chip in with cleaning. And they never only had one person doing it. It was like they were… punishing him… What had he done? If anyone should be being punished, surely it was Frank?

And then Frank put two and two together.

Oh god.

What had he said on Frank's behalf that meant he got to keep his job but Stephen got put on disgraced cleaning?

Frank followed everyone else into the locker room, trying to listen in to their conversations, taking as long as he possibly could. He couldn't hear exactly what they were all muttering, but he was pretty sure he heard Stephen's name, linked with his own, linked with the fat, old man from last week. Gradually, they all began to disperse, until only Frank was left, still dressed in his work clothes. He headed out into the main room, where Stephen was scrubbing away at the tables.

Stephen had quietly got to work, accepting the fact that he simply had to do this. He had got all the cleaning equipment from the cupboard and began with the tables, refusing to look up as his colleagues all left, hearing his name passing through the crowd like a disease. He didn't want to see their disappointed faces. But most of all, he didn't want to see Frank.

"Stephen." Came Frank's voice from behind him. He whirled around, to find a confused, almost hurt look upon the face of someone usually so tough.

"Frank? What are you still doing here? I thought you would have left ages ago?" Stephen exclaimed, blushing, trying to cover up his awkwardness with chitchat. As was the British way.

"What did you do?" Frank ignored Stephen's ramblings.

"What do you mean?" Stephen tried, even though he knew it was a failed attempt.

"What did you do, or say you did, to get me out of trouble? Cos I swear to God, Stephen, that if you did something that in any way endangered you for the sake of me then…"

"Hah. What? No. Er.." Stephen turned away and tried to continue cleaning.

"What did you say, Stephen?" Frank pressed, coming up behind him and taking away his brush.

"Nothing!" Stephen protested, trying to take the brush back, but failing as Frank pulled it away from his grasp again and again.

"Just tell me. I know that you did something. It's pretty obvious. I'm not stupid, Stephen."

Fuck. Frank really knew how to talk his way round people. Stephen sighed.

"Fine."

There was a pause.

"I maybe, sort of, kinda told them that I was to blame for your outburst because I wanted to get you sacked. That I had been winding you up all day and putting you down at work and everything. And that I even did something to the man's food to make him complain, right at the very end. But then I realised what I had done was wrong and so tried to stop you." He gushed.

Frank stared at him.

"They were quite annoyed but said that so long as I never did it again, I could stay. It probably helped that I 'owned up'. And that I stopped you. But, I mean, I thought that it was quite good, like plausible, because we were always fighting and what not…" he trailed off. "Er, Frank?"

Frank swallowed, not quite believing his ears. He couldn't believe that Stephen had done that. For him.

He slowly became aware that he was shaking. And that Stephen was staring at him, cautiously.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" Frank spat, the words coming out more violently than intended. Fuck.

"I… I don't know." Stephen hesitated. And it was true; he didn't really know. There was just something about Frank when he had been all… gah anyway.

"Don't you ever fucking dare do anything like that again, do you hear me?" Frank charged forward and grabbed Stephen's collar, shaking him. "Understand?"

Stephen nodded frantically, slightly terrified. He knew Frank would react this way.

"Good." Frank released him, stepping back and trying to calm himself down. "Right. Ok. Now. Now, you are going to go home and let me do all the cleaning."

"But then they'll just think that I made you do it." Stephen pointed out.

"Fine. You sit there while I clean."

"Still…"

"Gah, ok then. If you're so bloody keen to clean, then fine. But I am helping and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Stephen considered for a moment, before deciding this was the best he was gonna get. Hah. They had to be the only teenagers to fight over _doing _the cleaning as opposed to _not _doing it.

They got to work in amicable silence, wiping and polishing the tables, before starting on the floor.

And that's where the trouble started. You see, cleaning the floor required water with a product in which formed bubbles. And where there are bubbles, there's trouble. Especially when you have those bubbles in the presence of two teenage boys with serious sexual chemistry.

Frank started it. Stephen swore on his life. He was just innocently mopping away, when suddenly, bam! A whirlwind of bubbles sprung up into the air.

Stephen started it. Frank swore on his life. He was just dipping his mop in the bucket, when he looked up, and there were bubbles everywhere! And, come on now, what else was he supposed to do?

Immediately, Stephen squealed, vision obscured by the glinting, glimmering jewels of air, and grabbed his mop to wield it precariously in front of him. On instinct, Frank returned the action, snatching up a dustpan shield for good measure, and grinning wickedly.

He threw down his duster dramatically, before announcing "I challenge thee to a duel."

Stephen bent down to pick up the rag, looking Frank in the eyes as he did so. That was his first mistake.

Frank's eyes widened as he watched Stephen move.

"Challenge accepted." he pronounced. That was his second.

They lunged at each other, brandishing their mops like swords, laughing manically. They danced through the bubbles, kicking them up in each other's faces and spinning and twirling on the slippery floor. So many times, one of them nearly fell, but the other was always there to catch them, only to dart off again and continue the game.

They ended up in a face off over a table, teasing and jumping this way and that. It could have gone on forever quite enjoyably, had Frank not realised that he could reach over the table and seize Stephen's mop. He tugged it jerkily, causing Stephen to naturally try and follow after it. Which only allowed Frank to grip his waist and pull him flat against his body in a deadlock hold.

"Do you surrender?" Frank breathed in his ear, heart beat racing.

"I will never surrender!" Stephen exclaimed, fireworks exploding down his spine from the contact.

"Then prepare to be finished!" Frank declared, suddenly stepping back, leaving Stephen standing in surprise.

He turned to see what was going on…. to be ambushed by a cloud of bubbles.

Shrieking, he grabbed a handful himself and hence the bubble war began. Mops lay discarded on the floor while they smothered the other in an onslaught of wet, shiny, sticky bubbles. The tactics they used were… dubious… to say the least. Some might even say they were downright dirty. Often, Frank would corner Stephen, pressing their bodies flush together, only to have him wriggle slightly and his entire resolve collapse around him, Stephen skipping merrily free. Similarly, Stephen used close proximity to keep Frank occupied, darting his body closer and closer, distracting him until he suddenly unleashed a horde of bubbles into Frank's face or down Frank's shirt.

Eventually, Frank used his years of fight training (eg playground brawls) to get the upper hand in one on one wrestling. He pulled Stephen down to the ground, pinning both his hands above his head.

"Now, do you surrender?" he pressed, smirking victoriously.

"Never! I will never surrender! You can take my life but you can never take my freedom!" Stephen proclaimed, theatrically.

"That doesn't even make sense in this context." Frank pointed out.

"Whatever, it sounds good." Stephen laughed and stuck his tongue out mischievously.

Which only drew attention to his mouth, making it even more difficult for poor Frank to avoid looking at. And thinking about. And imagining what it would be like to…

No. Stop. Focus.

"But, either way, you're going to have to surrender. I see no way out of this for you, young man." Frank raised an eyebrow cockily.

"Don't speak too soon."

Stephen had an idea. He just didn't know how well it would go down. He tried to wriggle his way out, twisting this way and that, but Frank would not budge.

"Face it, Carmichael, I'm stronger than you. There's no way out." Frank laughed.

"Well then, Frankie. I'm afraid you leave me no choice. I demand you release me, or I will be forced to do the unthinkable." Stephen opened his brown eyes wide.

"What could you possibly do to me right now?" Frank tried not to think of all the possibilities. Especially not with Stephen so… close.

"So many things, Frank. So many, many things." Stephen winked.

Dammit. Frank squeezed his eyes tightly shut, forcing out all the mental images that sprung to his head.

"What did you have in mind?" he heard his voice say, only a little husky.

Was he… was he flirting with Stephen Carmichael? Was he actually flirting? With Stephen Carmichael?

"If you don't move off of me right now, Frank Grayson…" Stephen began, before taking a deep breath, more nervous than he was letting on.

Frank tried to ignore the shivers that he got from hearing Stephen say his full name.

"I will be forced…" Stephen leant up and whispered right into Frank's ear. There was no going back now. "To kiss you."


	11. To Kiss You

_"__I will be forced…" Stephen leant up and whispered right into Frank's ear. There was no going back now. "To kiss you." _

"Wa… What?" Frank stuttered. Had he heard him correctly? Had he really just said… what Frank had thought he had said? Because no. He couldn't have. I mean… he wouldn't want to… would he?

"I will kiss you. Unless you move off me right this second." If you move, I will cry, Stephen mentally added beneath his faked confidence.

"Are you serious?!" Frank exclaimed, although there was an honest question behind the sentiment.

"Deadly serious." Stephen nodded solemnly, though he dropped a wink at the end just to keep the mood up.

Fucking hell, Frank thought. He should just get up. He should just get up and leave the little fag alone. He should just go. Go. Now.

So why was he still here? He didn't want to… to… you know… kiss him. He didn't. He wasn't gay. But… I guess, he didn't not want to either.

He took a deep breath.

"I will never surrender." He echoed Stephen's earlier words.

"I will kiss you." Stephen reinforced, faking an arrogant smirk… while his heart pounded and he searched Frank's eyes desperately for some sort of sign.

"I will not surrender." Frank repeated. Then heard his voice continuing, almost tauntingly. "Plus I don't think you'll actually do it."

"Oh really?" Stephen laughed, darting his face closer. "Oh really?"

"Yes really." Frank returned, fighting to keep his voice even, despite the shaking that seemed to have taken over his entire body.

"Is that a challenge?" Stephen pressed, breathing heavily.

"Maybe." Frank stuck his tongue out, teasingly. His heart was racing.

Dammit, why could the boy never give him a straight answer? "I'm going to take that as a yes." Stephen attempted, and when Frank did not object, he added "So challenge accepted."

He brought his mouth up against Frank's, feeling him tense up slightly, leaving just enough distance between them to feel the other's breath on their lips, but not be in contact. Ever tauntingly teasing.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to surrender?" Stephen licked his lips, almost brushing Frank's own with his tongue.

Frank had to bite back a moan. Wait… why was this affecting him so much? It meant nothing, right. Just one kiss to win the fight. That's it. Right. Right?

"Never." Frank stated finally.

"Really?" Stephen brought his beautifully shaped, red and full lips even closer.

"Really." Frank breathed, all attempt at an act gone.

There was no fucking way he was gonna let himself or the poof duck out now.

"Right." Stephen whispered.

"Ri-" Frank began.

But was cut off by Stephen's lips upon his.

And fuck that felt good.

They were warm. And soft. And… and… just slightly… moist. Pressure, but not painful. Push and pull and pure perfection. Forgetting for the moment that he was meant to have both of Stephen's hands pinned down, he lifted one up to grab his waist and tug him closer. He needed more proximity. He needed more friction. He needed more of this.

Well… this was unexpectedly… nice? Stephen had definitely not thought in a million years that kissing Frank Grayson would feel anything like this. Not that he thought about kissing Frank Grayson… much. But it was incredibly nice. And not just nice, like... normal nice… it was like deep and desperate and dainty. Floating and then forcing, strong but sensitive. Perfection. He felt Frank release one of his hands and so brought it up to the chest, feeling the proud muscles grinding there, then sliding it up to his face, gently stroking. He felt Frank grip his waist, and honestly he'd never felt something so good in his entire life.

It began gentle. Cautious. Like ebbing water, give and take, forwards and backwards in a careful, steady rhythm. But slowly, they started getting confident, snatching at the other's body with their hands while their mouths worked like cold fire in clashing sparks, working ferociously against the other's. Suddenly, Stephen flipped the pair, so he could straddle Frank and access his neck; biting and pulling and sucking. Frank groaned intensely and Stephen had to take a deep breath to try and calm down. He brought his mouth back up to Frank's, where it was eagerly received.

They both gradually became aware however that they needed a certain annoying thing called oxygen and were forced to pull apart.

And then the actual realisation hit them.

Fuck. Frank had just kissed another guy. Frank had just kissed Stephen. And fucking liked it. He'd fucking moaned for fuck's sakes. Fuck. What the fuck was he gonna do?

His eyes shot wide open in shock, and he made an unintelligible noise.

Stephen stared down at the red faced, bruised lipped Frank Grayson before him and blinked. Had that seriously just happened? Apparently so, from the whirlwind of feelings that were rocketing through his body right now. He gulped as Frank began to speak. He had to think fast. Otherwise, Frank would beat the shit out of him, the gay faggot that he was.

"I win!" he laughed. "Victory is mine!"

Frank gawked as Stephen suddenly spoke. And then sighed, as the words registered in his mind. Of course. This was all that this had been about. Winning some stupid little game. That was all it had meant to Stephen. Of course.

And… yeh… that was all it had been to Frank as well. Haha. Duh.

"Ahhhh dammit." Frank shrugged. "Fair play, my friend, fair play."

Stephen nodded, still grinning… over a breaking heart. Cos that's all this was to Frank. Of course it was. Just "play" with a "friend".

He clambered up and offered Frank a hand, which was naturally declined due to Frank's desperate manliness.

"Fuck." Frank swore when he had finally gotten to his feet.

"What?" Stephen questioned immediately. Perhaps Frank was going to admit how much that kiss had meant to him after all…

"This place is a fucking mess!" Frank indicated the room… which was absolutely covered with bubbles and mops and polish and dustpans and all sorts of cleaning wonders… that were now making the most epic mess known to mankind all across the restaurant. Kind of ironic really.

Stephen sighed. He really needed to accept the fact that Frank felt nothing from that kiss. And that he didn't either. Cos of course he didn't. It was all just part of the game. Luckily, he managed to pass that sigh off as an indication of his distress about the state of the room.

"Oh dear…" he muttered. Then he glanced at his watch. "Fuck! I'm meant to be home in 15 minutes!"

"Well then we'd better work quickly. And then I can give you a lift in my truck?" Frank offered.

"Fab, thanks bab – mate." Stephen stopped himself. Because Frank wasn't his babe. He was his mate. They were just mates. Who worked together. And cleaned together. And gave each other lifts and helped each other out. And apparently kissed. But just as mates.

The next 15 minutes they spent hurriedly clearing away all the mess they had created and cleaning the room to the best of their ability. They made a dream team and the work was done with 2 minutes to spare.

"Fucking hell. If we worked this well for the rest of our job, they'd give us a promotion in no time." Frank grinned, as they put the equipment away.

"We make a good team!" Stephen nodded, heading towards the door, holding it open for Frank.

"That we do." Frank agreed, following Stephen. "Thank you." He added.

"You're welcome." Stephen threw over his shoulder, surprised that Frank was being so polite for such a small act as holding a door.

Frank reached forward and fleetingly touched Stephen's arm to make them both stop. He looked him dead in the eyes and quietly, but with a sense of importance and emphasis to it, expressed

"No. Thank you."

And Stephen understood then that he meant it for more than just holding a door.


	12. Smile

The following week, the pair marched in, bright and early, wearing identical beaming grins to challenge the rising sun. They stole glances and smiles at each other throughout their boss's greeting speech, they shared private winks and laughs within any conversation, and they generally carried about them an air of secretive joy for the duration of the day. They never mentioned the 'incident' of last week, instead letting it hang between them like a sprig of hopeful mistletoe. Surprisingly, no one mentioned this change in characters, despite the fact that for all they knew they had been deathly enemies ever since the start of time and all of a sudden they were partaking in inside jokes and sharing cups of coffee while feeding each other tiny, little, heart-shaped Digestive biscuits.

Literally.

Ok… perhaps the Digestives weren't heart-shaped or miniature. But still.

Frank wasn't entirely sure what his relationship with Stephen was, but it sure as hell wasn't normal… whatever the fuck _that_ was. But for once in his life, he actually didn't care. Instead, he just snorted as Stephen failed yet again to fit an entire (averagely sized, cyclical) Digestive in his mouth, and grabbed another to demonstrate his skills. There was a lull in customers today, so they had taken to merely leaning against the counter when they could, and enjoying the other's company.

Stephen spluttered as he almost choked on the biscuit, but couldn't help grinning through it. Like seriously, how the fuck did Frankie do it? Was his mouth like a TARDIS and bigger on the inside? Imagine the blow jobs he could give with that… Stephen blushed profusely as Frank practically deep throated the biscuit, and had to hurriedly turn away, disguising his action with a cough.

Frank could get used to this, he decided. He liked the way that Stephen would smile at him whenever they made eye contact, like he wasn't ashamed to be Frank's… friend. And Frank felt he could revel in their connections without being called a 'sentimental vagina', or a 'weeping pussy' as his other 'friends' so eloquently phrased it. For once, he could let himself be free, without having to worry about appearances, because he knew that Stephen wouldn't judge him for it. For once, he could let himself be happy.

It was the little moments; the moments that made Stephen's heart skip a beat, or Frank's breath hitch, or blushes to bloom across both their cheeks. Little moments of eye contact, carrying a fleeting wink or a hidden twinkle across the length of the restaurant. Moments of skin contact, a hand on an arm, a finger on a face, setting off quiet sparks of electricity shooting throughout their nerves. Moments of emotional contact, where they just were. Together. Happy.

The pace picked up as the restaurant filled, but these moments never stopped. Frank sidled past Stephen, and as he did so, he pinched teasingly at his waist, making him giggle and stick his tongue out at Frank's retreating figure, much to the joy of the young family he was serving.

Stephen got his own back by tugging Frank's apron strings as he passed on his way to the kitchen and watching him whirl around before chuckling and tying them back up with only a few good-humoured raised eyebrows from the couple seated to Frank's right who saw both the secret smiles from both partaking parties.

And then at the end of the day, in the backroom where they ended up alone, again, Frank grabbed Stephen by the apron, spinning him round. This way he could blatantly check him out and when Stephen noticed he could simply waggle his eyebrows and comment

"Nice apron."

"It would look better on your bedroom floor though." Stephen snickered back.

"Couldn't agree more." Was the playful reply.

These occurrences became common in the following weeks, with Frank and Stephen always dancing around each other, lighting up the room with their sheer happiness. Once they even got a letter complimenting the couple on their friendly appearance and inviting joy.

And then one day, the unimaginable happened, causing Stephen to practically fly over the moon.

It was just a normal Wednesday morning. A busy morning. With people crowding the corridors. Lots of people. Lots of witnesses. And despite their fun at work, they were yet to breach the school grounds. And so when Stephen saw Frank Grayson strolling down the very same corridor in which he himself was situated on that particular, busy Wednesday morning, a moment of panic, understandably, overtook him.

Did he acknowledge him? Did he wait to be acknowledged? Should he move out of the way? Should he stand his ground? Did he want to be rude? Or friendly? Or non-committal? What the hell did he do?

However, he was so busy_ thinking_ about what to do, that he didn't have time to_ do_ anything. Before Frank had reached where he was standing, with that, oh so attractive, bunny in the headlights look slapped across his face. And instead of shoving him out the way, like Grayson did so particularly well with everyone else, instead of even just looking away, Mr Frank Grayson looked Stephen straight in the eyes …

and smiled.

In front of everyone.

So what if it was just a tiny, little, shy smile? It was still the most beautiful thing that Stephen had ever seen. In fact, he had to pinch himself to make sure it ever even happened. It was just so unbelievably perfect. And it made Stephen's heart warm and flutter and fly, and his cheeks turn a particularly fine shade of dusty pink. And Chantelle ask

"What the fuck was that?"

But that just made Stephen shake his head silently.

And smile. Because now he simply could not stop.


	13. Every Word

Stephen was pretty sure he was still smiling the same smile as he strolled into _Bill's _on Saturday, only to be greeted by an identical grin from Frank. A couple of the girls they worked with, Molly and Grace, shared knowing winks when they saw their favourite ship being all sweet all over the place, yet again. It was a pretty wide-spread agreement throughout the staff that those two were too cute for their own good and were mad-pants in love, whether they had realised it yet or not.

"How are you today?" Frank asked Stephen as they reached the counter.

"Fabulous, as always." Stephen giggled. "And yourself?"

"Pretty good, yeh." Frank returned, resisting the urge to add on 'Now that you're here.'

As usual they got to work, keeping up their usual antics of the past few weeks; the looks, the touches, the jokes. It was endearing how they thought they were being subtle, perhaps squeezing the other's waist or shoulder just as they passed, thinking that no one noticed the act… or the smiles they then carried for the next ten minutes.

The restaurant was busier today, however, so they had less time to sit and chat aka less time to flirt away to their hearts' content. Instead, they were pretty much rushed off their feet, dancing this way and that to serve the never ending queue of customers.

It was all going fine, until one particularly large bloke marched in and stood scowling; cigarette in one hand, beer can in the other. Leather jacket over tattered jeans with a matching aged stench. His jaw was unshaven and he wore an equally unruly expression throughout his entire aura.

Stephen looked over, and mentally sighed. This was going to be a tricky one.

Frank glanced up to see this newcomer, and then immediately clocked that Steph was starting to head towards him. He leaped forwards, attracting Steph's attention, and shook his head. This one was on him; he knew how to deal with people like this… people like this were his speciality.

Plus… he didn't want Stephen going anywhere near this man.

The man greeted Frank with a grunt and followed him begrudgingly to a table. He snatched the menu and started frantically reading it, not letting Frank go until he had ordered, which only took a minute. Mainly, because he just ordered whatever he thought looked nice, equating to three main meals and two starters. Frank nodded, slightly surprised, and put the order in. He guessed that the man would have space, with all those fat rolls.

The problem came when Frank had to try and deliver all these plates, to the one man, onto such a small table, in such quick succession. He had managed the two starters easily, but the fish and chips, and the steak, and the chicken, all on big platters, all with side plates? Frank wasn't entirely sure how this would work. Either way, he began by removing the starter plates. Then, he balanced fish and chicken on one hand and steak on the other, with the dishes of chips and sauces precariously positioned on top. He toppled this way and that, attempting to deliver them to the table.

Stephen, always subconsciously aware of Frank, and his whereabouts and troubles, peered over at the exact moment where Frank wobbled while trying to deliver this mountain of plates. Naturally, he dashed over to help out, practically catching a chip bowl as it fell.

Frank sighed with relief and grinned thankfully at Stephen, his saviour. With a laugh, Stephen grabbed a few other plates and assisted in carrying them over. They unloaded, smiling at the man, who simply stared, angrily, at them.

No… not 'them'… just one of them. Stephen.

"Will there be anything else?" Frank finished, politely.

The man didn't reply, just glared pointedly at Stephen.

"Can I help you, sir?" Stephen asked, as gently as he could.

Finally, the man spoke, in a gruff, grating voice, which seemed to be pulled chokingly from his shrivelling lungs. He mumbled something, under his breath.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that." Stephen encouraged.

"You're a faggot." Came the growling voice again, louder this time. Loud enough to make nearby tables stop and turn.

"Erm… do you have a problem, sir?" Stephen tried, blushing.

"Yes. You're a fucking faggot, ain't ya? I don't want a fucking faggot anywhere near my food or me. You're gonna infect us all, you disgusting shit. I don't know who you all are; hiring and associating yourselves with this scum! Get the fuck away from me! Fag!" the man exploded suddenly, in a roar that echoed throughout the now silent restaurant.

Stephen flushed further and tried to speak, unsure what to say. What do you say in this sort of situation? I'm sorry?!

Surprisingly, it was Frank that spoke next.

"Excuse me, _sir_. But I'm going to have to ask you to SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Frank burst out.

"What did you say, young man?!" the man snarled, rising to his feet.

"I said shut the fuck up, you ignorant, homophobic, imbecilic bastard!"

"Says the one with a disgusting faggot for a friend!"

"A disgusting faggot, huh? A disgusting faggot?! Well, I'll have you know that that '_disgusting faggot_' is kind, and honest, and loyal! He stood up for me, believed in me when nobody else fucking did. He is intelligent and talented and brave and the best friend I have ever fucking had. He's fucking amazing. And he's ten times the man that you will ever be!"

The man opened and closed his mouth several times, looking like a goldfish, before spitting:

"Urgh, you're a fucking faggot as well. I should have known. Is he your boyfriend? Do you have your freaky gay sex behind the bins out back? Bet you take it up the arse. You're a little bitch, aren't you? Hah. I bet you're all like that, aren't you? Because this one little faggot shows up and fucking infects the entire lot of you! It's fucking disgusting that's what it is! And it's all your fucking fault!" The man screamed at Stephen, red in the face and panting heavily.

It was probably the most exercise he had ever done.

"Leave him alone." Frank demanded.

"Or what? You're gonna attack me with rainbows and pixie dust. Hah. Fuck you, you faggot scumbags!"

The man lunged suddenly at Stephen, who stepped back, nearly into a table. A sickening laugh spewed from the man's throat, and he stomped forwards again. Stephen felt someone grab his arm, and let it pull him away, finding himself behind Frank, who had his arms out as if to stop the man from getting at Stephen, protecting him.

"I said… leave him alone." Frank spoke again in a frighteningly cold tone. "You homophobic prick."

"Oh, come at me then, little girl wanker. Protect your boyfriend and come at me. Come on!" the man shouted.

Frank stared at him, waiting. He knew the law, it had to be self-defence.

"Come on, what you waiting for? Come on, you pussy!" the man jeered.

Frank waited.

"Fight me! Or has all the gay completely taken over your head so you can't even hear or understand or think or move, let alone fight? Hah. Obviously has. Nothing in there but sunshine and sparkles. Gays are not fit humans; you see what it does to you? Thick as a brick." The man taunted.

And reached forward to flick the side of Frank's head.

Quick as a flash, Frank whipped his arm forwards, catching him right in the bridge of his nose. As he crumped, Frank got a kick to the stomach, watching as the air wheezed out of him. Then a final boot to the balls and he was down.

Frank spat on the floor at the man's face.

Then stepped back and realised what he had just done as the red mist slowly lifted.

Silence.

Frank's heavy breathing and the man's groans were the only noises in the room.

Complete stillness. No one even seemed to dare to breathe.

Fuck, Frank was so gonna get fired for this.

You know what. Fuck it. At least Stephen was ok and that man got what he deserved.

He turned away from where he had been towering over the man's fallen form, and drank in a deep sigh.

And then, all of a sudden, noise broke out from all around them.

What the hell was going on? What was the riot of noise? Where they angry? Frank wouldn't blame them; he had completely just ruined their meal.

And then Stephen grabbed his arm, spinning him around and desperately hugging him.

"Thank you!" he squealed. "Thank you so much! You're amazing. Oh my god, Frankie! I love you! You're so wonderful."

He pulled back to see Frank's dazed expression, and laughed, planting a kiss on Frank's cheek. Which just made him blush and blink and Stephen laugh even more.

They broke apart, Stephen still holding onto Frank's hand, and Frank turned around to take in the room, wondering why no one was coming up and tugging him away.

Before he realised that they weren't screaming and banging because they were cross.

They were clapping.

Every single person in that restaurant was clapping.

For Frank.

Some people were even standing up.

If Frank had been that sort of person, he would have cried.

But he wasn't – he was, you know, tough and shit – so he just let his eyes water a little bit before hurriedly blinking it away.

He did let himself smile, though just a little bit. The tiny, shy smile that Stephen loved so much. And made him want to kiss it even more onto his lips.

A mother nearby leaned over, touched Frank's shoulder and grinned "Well said, and well put. I am so glad that my children were here to witness such an honest, brave act. Thank you so much."

Another man called over "You, my friend, are an inspiration to us all."

But the one that made Frank blink the most was when a young boy came scurrying over, before hurriedly mumbling "That was so cool! You're like a superhero. You're my superhero. I want to grow up to be just like you." Before running away again.

However, soon, his boss came over, looking rather stern. Frank began to try and apologise but he merely held up his hand and said "Now. As your boss, I'm not going to congratulate you on what you did because it breached work policies. But, seeing as there was no real harm done and everyone of worth seems to be ok, you can keep your job. With no repercussions….. Because, not as your boss, I say thank you and well done; you are a credit to this work place and have definitely caused quite a stir, but this time, at least, it was very much positive." He winked and walked away and Frank breathed a sigh of relief.

More cries of "Thank you" "Brave" "Strong" "Honest" "Amazing" "Well done" followed, and Frank blushed but accepted them. At some point, somebody moved the man and took him away, but Frank was so overwhelmed by the entire situation with all these people actually thanking him for something that he'd done right apparently, that he didn't notice.

He also didn't notice that he was still holding onto Stephen's hand.

The rest of the day went fairly smoothly, without complication or complaint. Wherever Frank went, however, people would smile, almost proudly, and tell him what a good job he did and how wonderful he was. As for Frank, he wore a pretty much permanent beaming grin, and no longer forged subtlety with his actions towards Stephen, who returned it all with just as much enthusiasm. Who was just so honoured and delighted and felt so… loved from everything that Frank had said.

But as their shift drew to an end and it was just Frank and Stephen yet again in the back room. Frank confided in Stephen

"I worry that they all think I'm someone that I'm not."

"Were you being fake when you were saying all that stuff?" Stephen asked, quietly.

"Well… no."

"Was it planned?"

"No."

"Forced?"

"No!"

"Well then. It was definitely you saying those things… Maybe… Maybe that is the real you and everything else that you thought was you is 'someone that you're not'."

Frank considered it for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"You make me a better person." He whispered quietly. "You make me the real me. You make me someone I'm proud to be and somebody that I want a little boy to idolise. I like the real me. Er… thank you, Steph."

"Aww Frankie. It's ok. Although, really, thank you. For saving me. And for everything you said. Did you er, you know, mean it?"

Frank looked up surprised; did he honestly not see what an amazing person he was?

He looked Stephen dead in the eyes and nodded:

"Every word."

_: "Well, I'll have you know that that 'disgusting faggot' is kind, and honest, and loyal. He stood up for me, believed in me when nobody else fucking did. He is intelligent and talented and brave and the best friend I have ever fucking had. He's fucking amazing. And he's ten times the man that you will ever be!" _


	14. We're Not Friends

**We're Not Friends **

It was all just perfect. So perfect.

They had been getting closer and closer over the following weeks, talking at work, smiling in corridors. And sometimes when Stephen looked over at Frank, seeing his beautifully grinning face, he felt a little tug at his heart - just a little one - that perhaps made him wonder if there was something more there.

Frank had never felt this way about anyone ever before. It was crazy and weird and… amazing because he felt so comfortable and natural, but also on edge and… fluttery. And there was this weird thing that happened like sometimes when he looked at Stephen and caught a moment where the light was shining on him funnily or his eyes were wide and like glinting or he was just gazing off somewhere in one of his funny little fantasies with a slight, gentle smirk on his perfect lips… yeh in one of these moments or whatever, he just sort of… felt… something. Like. Inside. In his stomach. In his heart. In every single nerve weaving throughout his body and every single fibre of his existence. It was like a sort of shock. Or a pull. Or a… I dunno… a proper like feeling? You know… a _feeling _kind of feeling.

Gah. Whatever man. He wasn't bothered. Yeh didn't matter to him. Probably nothing. Pah. Feelings.

Feelings meant nothing to him.

Feelings were just a pain in the arse.

A fucking terrifying pain in the arse.

It was all just a bit insane. It was all just happening so fast.

A few weeks later, and Stephen strolled into _Bill's, _with Frank by his side of course, as per usual. The minute they walked in however, they heard a few hushed whispers before a strange chorus of noise filled the room. They looked around to find all the members of staff trying to nonchalantly hum some tune, but unsurprisingly, as most weren't actors, their subtle innocence façade could do with a lot of work and it was fairly obvious this was no coincidence. It took Stephen a moment to realise what they were humming: the wedding march.

He immediately burst out laughing and stuck his tongue out at them all.

"What?" Frank asked, confused, unable to recognise the tune as he was pretty much tone deaf.

"Don't worry, Frankie. Don't you worry." Stephen grinned, happy to have something over him, but also slightly worried as to how he would take it.

"Frankie?" Molly called across, sending a wink to Grace.

Simultaneously, they made love hearts out of their hands and giggled.

Stephen rolled his eyes good naturedly. Frank silently blinked and bit his lip nervously.

But one nudge and a shared grin from Stephen and all was well again.

They went on to get changed and sort themselves out for the busy day, both with their matching happy auras and beaming smiles caused merely from the other's presence.

The work was running tougher as it drew closer to Christmas and so they were rushed off their feet.

However, Frank could never get away from the endless jolts and stirs that wracked through his body whenever he so much as looked Stephen's way. It was getting really intense and really confusing and really unnerving and he just didn't understand what was really happening. He couldn't be dealing with this. He couldn't fall for someone. Especially not a boy. His brothers would tease him and bully him. His Dad would beat him. And his Mum. Oh god. He didn't even want to think about his Mum.

So he just wouldn't look at Stephen. He wouldn't hang around to chat with him after work. He wouldn't wait for him in the mornings. He wouldn't have anything to do with the boy any more than necessary. And then when all this weirdness passed, perhaps they could be friends again or something.

Yeh.

That was what he would do.

But then he blinked and immediately when his eyes opened again, they found Stephen's form among the madness, and the stupid, fluttery feelings returned and he almost lost it.

He had to dig his nails into his palms to force himself to look away and just stop.

This was awful.

This was horrible.

This was absolutely fucking petrifying.

He forced a frown upon his face and stormed about the restaurant for the rest of the day, like a raging disease upon a summer's picnic. What the fuck was happening? What the fuck should he do?

Stephen was worried about Frank. Every time he tried to catch his eye, he pointedly turned away and walked off. What was going on? Was it something he said or did? Were all the comments and jokes made by the others getting to him? He knew that he needed to talk to him before he went home tonight, because he knew how Frank got when he was in a bad mood.

The rest of their shift followed much the same; Frank avoiding Stephen as best as he could and Stephen trying his hardest to get him alone. Or get him anywhere near him so they could talk before he scooted off.

Finally, as they were all in the back room getting changed at the end, Stephen seized his moment and grabbed Frank's arm. Usually, they changed slowly so they could get some time to themselves, but today Frank was scrabbling around, as though he was desperate to be away from them all as quickly as possible.

Well, now Stephen _knew _that something _had_ to be wrong; this wasn't like the Frankie the old Grayson had beautifully turned into at all.

So he grabbed Frank's arm to stop him leaving, and dragged him a little way along the corridor, ignoring all the wolf whistles from the back room.

Frank had to take several deep breaths to try and not focus on the contact of Stephen's fingers on his arm.

It didn't work.

Stephen released Frank's arms and crossed his own, looking him emphatically in the eyes.

Frank looked away, counting to ten in his head to try and calm down these fucking jitters.

"Come on, Frank." Stephen said gently, eventually.

Frank shook in stony silence, still attempting to control his body and thoughts.

"What's wrong?" Stephen prompted.

Frank heaved a massive sigh; faking boredom, covering nerves.

"Frankie?" Stephen was practically begging now.

Frank's heart leapt when he heard Stephen utter his favourite nickname for Frank.

Gah. No. He had to stop this.

"Don't call me that." He spat sharply to mask his wobbling voice.

"Woah… er ok." Stephen blushed, stumbling over his words. This was strange. Frank had never complained about that before. "What's up, Frank?"

"Nothing." Frank replied quickly. He found that if he spoke loudly, harshly and speedily, his voice sounded stronger and less like the quivering mess he was inside.

"I think we both know that's not true." Stephen raised a perfect eyebrow.

God Frank hated it when he did that.

"Please talk to me, Frank."

Frank shook his head once and turned to leave. Why couldn't the boy just leave him alone?

"Frank! Come on. Please. What is it? Talk to me." Stephen cried.

"Why should I?" Frank suddenly burst.

Stephen's beautiful brown eyes shot open and he blinked once in surprise.

"Because we're friends, Frank? That's what friends do…"

"No." Frank hissed. "Just because we work together, doesn't mean we're friends."

"What? Frank? What?" Stephen was blinking more rapidly now. What was going on?

"You heard me. We're not friends, Carmichael. So get over whatever wild fantasy you have going on in your fairyland head of yours, and leave me alone. Because we're not friends. You mean nothing to me." Frank growled, but his voice broke at the end. Stephen looked like he'd noticed this and was about to object or point it out or something, so Frank hurriedly added "Faggot."

And walked away.

Leaving a very confused and lonely Stephen, an even more confused, even more lonely Frank, and a pair of breaking hearts.


	15. In The Storm

**In The Storm **

The next week, Frank… sorry… Grayson didn't even have the decency to look at Stephen or explain anything that was going on.

Stephen knew he should have listened to himself and everyone else. He should have listened to his logical, rational brain that knew that Grayson was just an arrogant, bullying twat.

Under no circumstances should he have let himself get carried away in an impossible, imagined fantasy concocted from the inner workings of his hopelessly romantic, stupidly overdramatic heart.

Because then he wouldn't feel like this.

Absolutely shit. All the time.

He moped around the corridors and what was worse; he couldn't even tell Chantelle what was going on because he was too embarrassed to admit that he'd ever even liked the prick in the first place.

Well screw him. Screw him and his conceited, thuggish, unfeeling ways.

At work, they didn't talk. They didn't make eye contact. They didn't even inhabit the same room unless they absolutely had to. Everyone else knew something was up but none of them wanted to say anything because they were equally afraid of Stephen's wrath as they were of Frank's.

At school, they completely and utterly avoided each other. If one caught even a glimpse of what could possibly be the other, they turned around and ran. Subtly, of course. No one must know.

No one must know, Frank told himself. No one must know the thoughts that danced through his mind every fucking second of every fucking minute of every fucking day. He just couldn't get rid of them. So refusal hadn't worked. And he was too far in, that denial was completely out of the question. All he had left was outward pretence and concealment. Because no one could ever know of the dreams that he had when no one was around. Or the desires that spiralled from the depths of his twisted heart. Least of all the subject of the dreams and desires. Which was of course Stephen.

So he stayed as far away from him as was humanly possible. Work was an issue, but he found that if he kept his eyes on the ground and his mouth shut, then there was no need for communication with anyone at all. And then for the rest of the week, well, he rarely actually properly showed up to school but when he did, he merely needed to keep an eye out for the… the faggot… and make a hasty retreat whenever his eye found him.

It was fine.

Really.

Positively easy.

The logistics of it all.

Were absolutely no trouble at all.

He just hadn't thought it would hurt this fucking much.

He… missed him. He missed his smile. He missed his laugh. He missed his cute little jokes and the funny little twitch of his nose that he did when he was embarrassed. He missed his constant, cheering presence and happy aura, bringing Frank up from his mundane and humdrum life. He even missed his sassy comments and the way that he was never afraid to challenge Frank, stand up to him when he was being a douche.

And it felt like there was something inside him that was kinda empty now. An empty weight somewhere in his chest. That fucking hurt. Like fucking hell. And never fucking stopped.

…

Stephen swore it was months - but it was probably only actually a couple of weeks - passed and still the distance between the pair had not changed. If anything it had expanded. He was torn between hating him and missing him and wanting to jump him. Gah. Fuck him.

Yes please.

No.

Stop.

Gahh! He shook his head thoroughly to try and expel the limpet thoughts from his brain.

"Stephen dear?" his Mum asked him, concerned.

He blinked, having momentarily forgotten the fact that he was sat meant to be eating dinner with his family on this particularly stormy Wednesday evening.

"Sorry. Shiver." He improvised, smiling slightly to smooth the frown that had formed on her forehead. Although the smile didn't quite meet his eyes. It hadn't done that for a while.

"Means someone is thinking about you." She winked.

"I'm pretty sure that's when your ears go red, dear." His Dad chipped in. "Shivers means someone walked over your grave."

"Ears going red means someone is _talking_ about you, Darren." His mum objected.

And his Dad might have replied, but Stephen was gone again, lost in his own whirlwind of grey thoughts.

Suddenly, the doorbell went. Grateful to have something to distract himself, Stephen immediately leapt to his feet.

"I'll get it!" he exclaimed.

"But you haven't finished your macaroni cheese?..." his Mum protested.

"Not hungry right now."

"Hmm…" she sighed. He had been like this for a while now.

"I wonder who it is to be out on a night like this." His Dad contemplated.

Stephen looked out the black window, only able to make out the lashing rain and howling winds from the sputters and whistles against the glass. A crash of thunder followed a flash of lightening, darting from the darkness, before fading away again.

"Must be pretty desperate." His Mum added.

"So it would be a good idea not to keep them any longer than necessary, right mother?" Stephen snapped back to reality, delivered this curt line and dashed out the room.

He was all over the place at the moment.

The doorbell went again as he made his way to the door so he only allowed himself a moment to check his face in the mirror, vaguely aware that he was wearing unflattering tracksuits and an old t-shirt, but not exactly expecting much from a Wednesday evening.

He swung the door open and peered out into the darkness.

"Frank?!" he exclaimed loudly, before hurriedly hushing himself, glancing over his shoulder towards his parents. He continued in a whisper "What are you doing here?"

Because standing on his doorstep, rain cascading down his face, was a soaking wet, freezing cold, very dishevelled looking Frank Grayson. He wore only a thin t-shirt, jeans and a hoodie - no coat, or umbrella to shield him from the rain – and was simply standing there, holding a slightly dazed expression on his face.

"I don't know." He said eventually, in an almost disorientated murmur. "I didn't have anywhere else to go and something just sort of… drew me here." His eyes were pleading, apologetic.

Stephen stammered over his words.

"How did you know where I lived?" he asked after a while, aware that this was probably not the question to be focusing on, but completely baffled as to what to do.

"You told me, once." Frank scratched the back of his neck. The way he did when he was embarrassed.

"And you remembered?"

Frank shrugged, scratching his neck again.

An awkward pause descended upon the pair of them, Frank pointedly looking anywhere but Stephen's eyes, Stephen just trying to take in the general scene in front of him.

And it was then that he remembered that it was still raining, and freezing cold, and Frank was absolutely drenched.

"Bloody hell! Where are my manners? Would you like to come in?" Stephen blurted, blushing.

"I dunno, I don't want to interrupt your family evening or whatever…" Frank trailed off. "In fact, I don't really know why I came." I just needed to see you… "I should just…"

"No!" Stephen cried. Then coughed and continued in lower, more controlled tones. "I mean. You've come all this way, and look at you, you're sodden… you'll catch your death of cold. Come in, Frank, please."

Frank flushed and mumbled something, but eventually nodded and followed Stephen into his house.


	16. At the Carmichael's

**At the Carmichael's **

"Mum, Dad. I'd like you to meet Frank Grayson." Stephen announced as he marched into the kitchen, grin plastered on his face, eyes determined.

He could literally see all their emotions flitting identically across their faces; first interest, then surprise, then fear, finally composition.

Frank awkwardly shrugged his shoulders and scuffed his feet behind Stephen, offering only a quick nod of acknowledgement.

"Oh… how… lovely." Stephen's Mum attempted, although Stephen was aware of the poorly concealed horror that she was holding in.

"He's a friend from school and he works at _Bill's _with me." Stephen tried.

Then blushed as he realised that he had just called Frank a friend… and was half worried he would bolt at the mere mention of it.

He glanced behind him, reassured that he was still there.

"That's right." His Dad suddenly spoke. "You used to call him Grayson and you were angry as hell about him for the first few weeks. But you guys grew close, didn't you? Heard you got along well now."

"Ahh yes." His Mum nodded.

"Indeed." Stephen agreed, wide eyed. "You remembered?"

"You talk about him the entire time, how could we not remember!" His Dad exclaimed.

Stephen blushed. Frank lifted his head, hopefully, upon hearing this.

"On and on you go! I feel like we already know the boy!" His Mum added.

"Mum… Dad…" Stephen tried but suddenly, a voice came from behind him.

"Oh really?" Frank asked, and Stephen could hear the smile in his tone. "And what sort of things does he say exactly? All good things I hope?" he teased.

"Aha, oh love. Well… this could be a long one!" His Mum laughed, relaxing now that Frank had spoken - and didn't sound like a serial-killer thug. "Let me see… well, of course, you two weren't exactly each other's biggest fans right at the beginning, but how your friendship has blossomed. And now all he talks about are the jokes you two share, and the fun you guys have working that funny restaurant all Saturday."

"Sounds just about right." Frank grinned.

"And he simply goes on and on and what a good person you are, honestly Frank, you're a good lad to our son." His Dad chipped in, laughing across at his wife.

"Guys… seriously?" Stephen buried his head in his hands.

"Aw, are they embarrassing you, Steph?" Frank pinched his waist and stuck his tongue out when Stephen yelped. His parents looked on, admiringly. "Don't worry… it's exactly the same in my house." Frank whispered into his ear, loud enough for the parents to hear too, and Stephen's cheeks darkened in hue.

And for a second there, Frank could kid himself that it was just like this at home. That he had two parents that loved each other and their son very much. That they all shared teasing, loving banter around a warm cosy kitchen. That his brothers were all calm and polite and pleasant. And that they were actually able to stand in the same room as each other without someone getting punched. Which was usually Frank.

"Oh my goodness!" Stephen's mother suddenly exclaimed, breaking through the companionable moment and Frank's inner twisting thoughts. "Where are my manners? You're standing there sopping wet and probably starving from the cold, and I'm sitting here enjoying conversation. Right, would you like to change or eat first?"

It was so warm in the kitchen and Frank was so used to damp and cold that he had completely forgotten about the rain seeping through his thin shirt. But as she spoke, he felt his stomach begin to rumble and a shiver of cold flitter across his skin.

"Eat first." He decided. "If that's ok… Please." He added as an attempt at politeness. He was a bit out of practice but he could do his best. 

"Absolutely, dear." Stephen's Mum immediately started bustling around getting things together for him and Frank was struck by how long it had been since someone had called him dear in such a kind, comforting way and got him dinner, tutting about the cold. It felt so… homely. And kind of warm. Not just in the house… but right… inside… in his chest.

And then a steaming plate of macaroni cheese and vegetables was being placed in front of him, and a glass of orange squash, and his mind was emptied apart from the beautiful, fresh smell of the cheese and greens, and he forgot everything else.

He finished his plate within minutes, and then blushed for eating so fast, worried that that was against some kind of dinner etiquette that he had long forgotten.

"Sorry…" he started to apologise, but was immediately cut off by the clucking from Mrs Carmichael.

"Don't be ridiculous, my boy. Nothing to be sorry for. Would you like seconds?"

He nodded, almost ashamedly, and thanked her when yet another plate was placed in front of him.

He hesitated before starting again, but only to tell her that this was the most delicious meal he had had in a very long time, if ever.

Stephen sat by his side silently while he ate which he was very thankful for. And when he was finished, he took his plate and put it in the dishwasher and thanked his mother and showed him the way upstairs to where his dad had set up another bed in his bedroom and made it all nicely with a pale blue duvet and matching pillows and towels and then all of a sudden all the feelings, the pain, the happiness, the loneliness, the emptiness, the desperation and the need all came caving down on top of his weary body and he just collapsed.

His body wracked with something that should have been sobs but no actual tears came. He just shook and shook and heaved and heaved and Stephen held his hand and rubbed his back for the entire thing and eventually it just stopped.

Frank blushed when he had recovered and started to try and explain himself, but no words made sense. Nothing could quite describe it; Frank was just so confused… but not exactly sad. Overwhelmed perhaps.

Silently, understandingly, Stephen offered a towel and taught him how to use the shower.

Frank stood underneath the hot, pressing jets of water for a good half an hour, just letting the water run over him and wash away all the emotions. All the bad ones, at least. He winced as droplets hit his bruises like tiny knives and scrub as he might, the memories of his Dad's face when he slammed the door were not going to leave in a hurry.

Eventually he got out and headed back to Stephen's room. They changed in silence and got into bed in silence and it was only when the lights were out and they could no longer see the other's faces that Stephen finally spoke.

"Why are you here, Frankie?" he murmured blankly into the darkness. The words sounded rude, but the caress that Stephen applied to them just made Frank sigh into his freshly pressed blanket.

"My dad kicked me out." He admitted finally.

"Why?" Stephen pressed.

If anyone else had questioned him like this, Frank would have snapped at them and thrown them against a wall. But with Stephen, he knew it was just because he cared.

"He was drunk." Frank muttered.

There was a pause while Stephen waited for what he knew was going to come.

"He found out some stuff about me that made him decide I was weak." Frank added, slowly, picking his words with caution.

There was another pause.

"He heard about at school… with you… in the corridors and everything. And at work at _Bill's_. He thinks I'm going soft. Letting you push me around. Relaxing and having fun with you and being nice as opposed to bullying my way through everything. He called me a faggot. And…." He took a breath, stopping himself from saying too much. "And kicked me out." He ended hurriedly.

There was a moment of silence, and then quietly Stephen whispered "I saw the bruises."

"Ah." Was Frank's only reply.

Then there were a few minutes of silence.

Then:

"And I wanted to see you." Frank breathed, barely audible, like he hardly meant the words to be spoken or heard at all. Stephen figured he was in the in between stage between waking and sleeping. "I missed you. So much. Too much. I think my Dad knew. I think that's what set him off." Another pause. Then, finally, "Thank you, Steph."

After that, Frank's eyelids slipped closed and he fell into the most comfortable night's sleep he'd had in a long time, shrouded by a happy feeling of serene relaxation. It was only when Stephen heard the breaths even out deepen that he allowed himself to do the same. 


	17. I'd Love To

**I'd Love To **

Having Frank around all the time created a positive effect on the Carmichael family. For a start, Stephen was practically glowing with happiness, so much so that his parents were starting to wonder if he was ill. Frank was also the bit of light relief that this family needed; they had fallen into the rut of routine - day in, day out - that was starting to suck the spontaneity from their lives. The appearance of Frank therefore created a ladder from the gutter, brightening up the whole family. It was only a few days, but Mr and Mrs Carmichael, or as he was soon told to call them, John and Rita, took to him well and were perfectly happy to house him. On Thursday, they arrived at school together by bus, gaining many funny looks, especially due to the fact that only yesterday they were icy cold towards each other, avoiding eye contact in corridors. After school, they left together and went home together, Stephen even managed to convince Frank to do some homework together. And the same thing repeated the next day.

On Saturday, they set off to work and arrived at _Bill's _bang on time, smiles lighting up the whole room. Initially, there were mutterings and confusions swooping from one co-worker to the next, and Stephen swore he once saw some money being doled out, but it didn't take long for things to slide right back to normal. The teasings and ticklings continued, the laughs and jokes started up again, and general jollity filled the festive air.

"Honestly, those two are so cute I think I might burst." Carla whispered to Sam as they leant against the bar, watching as Frank and Stephen danced round each other while serving tables.

"£10 says they'll get together within two weeks." Marley called, swooping past with a tray full of ice cream.

"Deal." Carla replied.

"What's a deal?" Stephen asked, innocently curious, as he wandered over.

"Nothing." Sam smiled, eyelashes fluttering.

Stephen was going to question it further, but then strong arms encircled his waist and a voice whispered "Guess who?" into his ear and he forgot everything about it. Turning to give Frank a massive grin and a cute boop on the nose, he missed Sam and Carla sharing a sly high-five.

It was all back to the perfect normal again. And everything was going so great. Sort of… Because now the feelings were there, stronger than ever. And they were really starting to worry both Frank and Stephen; they had liked the other, then they had had a break up fight, and felt absolutely completely shit for ages, but worst of all realised they simply couldn't cope without the other. And they weren't even going out. And despite everything, they were still shy and worried. Stephen was worried Frank wasn't even gay. Frank was worried that he wasn't good enough for Stephen. Both were worried that the other simply wouldn't like them back and all of a sudden everything had a cloud of worry and doubt over the shining rays of sunny happiness. If something was going to happen, it had to happen now.

So Stephen started to try. He casually slid into conversation little jesting comments about them being together, or hints that he liked him. He touched his arm whenever he could, laughed at his jokes, grinned constantly.

Frank was so confused. Stephen was so gorgeous and talented and amazing. And he was being so nice and happy and touchy-feely. But then Frank looked at him with everyone else and he was just the same. And why would someone like Stephen go for a loser like him. But when Stephen was with him he was so happy. But then how could he know how he was when Frank wasn't there if Frank wasn't there to see it. It was so… fucking confusing. Sometimes he wished he could go back to how he was before this whole thing with Stephen… and then he realised that he wouldn't want to lose him for the world. And it made him even more confused and scared. So he didn't respond with anything particular. He was too confused. And too scared. Fucking hell, he was so scared. He'd never felt like this ever in his life before. He felt like everything was so fucking fragile and he would undoubtedly smash it all to pieces without even meaning to because he was so fucking stupid. Stephen was the only thing that mattered… and he'd realised that when he simply could not function without him.

That was the other, final part to the reason why his Dad kicked him out; he had been moping around like some cow with its head stuck up its arse ever since their fight. And eventually, his Dad got enough of him having emotions and told him that he should buck up, man up and stop being so moody, told him he was too soft and people would think he was gay.

Apparently, so what if I am was the wrong answer.

And so what if I am, Frank asked himself. So long as I have Stephen.

Then he blushed furiously, and rolled over embarrassedly in his bed.

"You ok?" Stephen whispered into the dark, hearing his discomfort.

"Fine." Frank replied gruffly.

"Can't sleep either?" Stephen asked.

"Got something on my mind." Frank muttered back.

"Want to share?" Stephen enquired, propping himself up on his elbow curiously.

Frank blushed harder. If only he knew. "Nah." He returned eventually.

"Is it about your Dad?" Stephen pushed.

"Nah." Frank grunted again.

"Then what is it?"

"Can't say."

Stephen sighed. He obviously didn't trust him enough. He hardly ever opened up to him.

No. That wasn't true. He had told him about his father.

Only cos he had to.

Shut up.

No.

Wait. Was he really having an argument within his own head? He really was insane. Insanely in love with Frank.

But the boy had shown no interest.

Other than talking to him and joking with him and teasing him and tickling him and playing with him and… kissing him… and generally having an amazing time with him and being a completely different, much better person around him.

But no romantic interest. Like properly. He was probably getting strung up on something that had no hope. Like he always did.

So when he was just wandering through town while Frank was doing something shady that he didn't want Stephen to know about and a guy he had met once at a party asked him out. Well… what could he say?

"I don't know…" Stephen stuttered, eloquent as always. "I'll have to get back to you… there's someone I just need to check things through with."

"Gotcha." The boy replied. "Facebook me."

But just then, Stephen caught sight of Frank stumbling out of an alleyway with two girls on either arm and a joint of weed in between his lips and he suddenly whirled in a fit of anger, returning to call after him "Actually, I'd love to!"


	18. It's A Date

**It's A Date**

Stephen couldn't do this. He couldn't actually do this. He couldn't actually go on a date while he still felt this way about Frank. But every time he considered cancelling, he remembered how Frank had looked coming out from that alleyway with the girls and the weed and he had realised how he would never have even gone out with him anyway. Cos he was straight after all, wasn't he?

Well, fuck it. Frank had tried, he had tried his very hardest, tried with all his might, to be straight. To be normal. He had gone out, got high, got drunk, got with girls. But none of it made any difference because the minute that Stephen had so much as glanced his way, albeit briefly, he was gone again; lost in the dream of caramel skin and pearly teeth and toned muscles and just everything that was Stephen. So fuck it, he was gay. For Stephen. Fuck.

And then when the boy had suggested Saturday evening well, how could he say no. How could he say no to the chance to show Frank what he was missing? And maybe make him feel the way that Stephen had on that day in town only a few days ago.

Frank really had no idea what to do. And what was worse, Stephen seemed to be showing even less interest than ever. Always picking up his phone and then putting it down again. Gazing off into the distance distractedly. Fuck. What was he gonna do?

Saturday arrived and Stephen's plans were set. He had made sure to go through with the boy in rigorous detail every minute. What? He liked to know what was happening and that it would all go right. And it was all just too perfect. His date would show up to _Bill's _to pick him up so they could go off and have a wonderful dinner together or whatever, and Frank would be the one this time left looking on sadly. It wasn't that he was using the boy, Stephen had to keep reminding himself, he really did want to go on a date with him. It was just an added bonus that Frank got a taste of his own medicine along the way.

As Frank hurried around _Bill's _that Saturday, he registered there was something definitely different with Steph. In fact, he had been acting differently pretty much all week. What was up with him? What had Frank done? What did Frank do? Fuck, he was so shit at relationships. Not that him and Stephen were even in one, or anything, or whatever. But still.

The seconds ticked by. Stephen's heart was racing. He was still only half way through his shift but he was already nervous. How would Frank react?

Stephen looked positively sick. Was he ok? Was it Frank's fault? Should he talk to him?

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and all too soon, the end of their shift drew near. Stephen's palms were sweating now, and he kept glancing at the door every time someone walked in. Could he really go through with this?

"Alright everyone!" the boss eventually called out. "Shift's over. Well done today."

And everyone simultaneously started heading to the back room.

And, as usual, Frank instead walked towards Stephen.

And that was when he saw him. Walking through the front door looking around all cute and nervous. He wore the typical primped hairstyle and the typical smart-casual get up. He sported the typical teenage gayboy air, probably smelling a typical teenage boy smell. He was so typically perfect.

So. Typically. Perfect.

He waved and smiled when he saw Stephen. Stephen waved and smiled back.

Then, all of a sudden, Frank was there, stepping forwards, forcing Stephen to look at him.

"Who's this?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

Please, just say he's your cousin. Please, just be his cousin.

Stephen looked at Frank square in the eyes, took a deep breath and spoke, attempting nonchalance.

"My date."

Fuck. No. What? But.

"Erm…" Frank stuttered. "Sorry?"

"He's my date." Stephen reiterated. "I'm going on a date with him. You know, like a romantic date. Where we do romantic things. Together."

"I know what a date is…" Frank spat.

There was a pause.

"Are you ok, Frankie?" Stephen asked, blinking his eyes innocently. Say no. Please, say no.

"Fine." Frank grunted.

"Because if you're not ok," Stephen pressed. "All you gotta do is say something." He stared imploringly into Frank's eyes. Say something, he pleaded, just say something.

"Shut up, Carmichael." Frank growled. "I'm fine."

"Erm… is everything ok here?" Stephen's date enquired, reaching the pair awkwardly.

"Everything's fucking fine, so shut your face, gayboy." Frank practically bellowed at the poor boy.

"Erm… ok?" he flushed. "Stephen?"

But Stephen was staring at Frank desperately. Come on, this had to be a sign, didn't it?

"Stephen?" the boy asked again.

"Er, yeh? Sorry." He answered without even seeming to think, without even looking his way.

And then suddenly, their boss reappeared. "Ah boys. Sorry to pick on you, but you're the first ones I saw. Could you possibly be on cleaning duty tonight? It won't take long I promise. Thanks lads." And then he pretty much ran out the door so they had no time to object.

Shit, what should Stephen do? An awkward pause shifted throughout the group. Then:

"You heard the man, Stephen. Sorry, _mate_, but it looks like you're stuck on cleaning. With me. Gonna have to cancel this silly little date of yours. So off you go now, gayboy, off you go. Bye-bye now." Frank commanded.

"Frank…" Stephen complained. Although he was caving to him just like he always did.

And then two girls walked past, one of them holding a pen, both of them leaning on each other laughing. And, just for a second, Stephen's mind flicked back to that night in town, with Frank and those girls and that joint and the alleyway and it honestly made Stephen so sick and so angry that now having Frank calling all the shots like this made it all feel absolutely unacceptable.

What right did he have to make sure that Stephen didn't go on any dates, while he was there having a very merry time with all the girls he wanted? He was so rude to stop Stephen from having his own romantic life when he obviously showed no interest in actually wanting to have one with Stephen. Because nooo, it would be way too out of the boat for Frank to actually show some interest in him, or heaven forbid actually do something romantic for him. And nooo, he absolutely could not even keep his hands off all the girls in town, and right in front of Stephen as well, while he was still playing around with Stephen.

But no more. This ended tonight.

Stephen was going to go out and he was going to have a really great, fun night with this boy, whatever his fucking name was. And he was going to be really sweet and really proper and really romantic and he'd walk him home like a proper gentleman and kiss him on his doorstep and say goodnight and it would all be so typically perfect and Stephen would be so typically, perfectly happy with none of this stupid Frank drama of does he like me, does he not, is he going to be nice to me today, is he not, is he even going to act human, is he not.

Stephen suddenly realised that he had been silent for a very long time; simply glowering at Frank and that both Frank and the date were looking very confused. And then it all just came out at once.

"You know what, Frank? No. You can find someone else to do cleaning duty with you. But I am going out tonight, with my date. I'm going out. On a date. Without you. Nothing to do with you. Right now." And Stephen turned, hoping to just stroll right out, but his date put one typically perfect hand on Stephen's chest to stop him.

"Stephen…" he sighed. "I did not sign up for this. Whatever is going on with you and this guy here, Frank, is it? You obviously have some unsolved feelings that you need to sort out. And while you still are, I do not want to get involved. I'm sorry, Stephen." And with that, he turned on his typically, _stupidly_ perfect heel, and walked towards the door.

"No!" Stephen called after him. "Don't go!"

"I'm sorry, Stephen." He returned back. "Sort out your shit, then gimme a call."

"Come back!" Stephen cried. "Please…" and then he paused… because he had forgotten his name.

The boy just raised one eyebrow. "Or don't." he smirked sarcastically, and left.

Fucking hell, Stephen sighed. Silently, he glared at Frank, grabbed a broom and got to work.


	19. It's A Date pt 2

**It's A Date pt 2**

Still slightly angry, although most of the red hot rage had worn off by now, Stephen tiredly scrubbed away at the floor. He was so nearly done, and then he could get out of here. Although, he wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen next, because he couldn't very well just show up home without Frank, a) because his parents would get all nosey and b) because even though Frank had been rude and annoying, he couldn't kick him out of his house, he just couldn't. So, instead, he just cleaned obsessively, taking as much time as possible, in order to delay things and try and work something out.

Frank's heart was pounding and his mind was racing. Would this work? Could he actually do this? He had finished properly cleaning ages ago, but since then he had been busying around, while Stephen seemed to take forever to finish, thinking everything through. And then he'd had this pretty good idea. But he had no idea if he could actually go through with. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. Yes, he would do this. He could do this. For Stephen. He would. So, quietly, while Stephen was apparently preoccupied with a particularly resistant stain, he slipped away.

Stephen had no idea how long he had been at this; it seemed like forever yet no time at all. He had just become so lost in his own whirling thoughts that he had forgotten what he was even meant to be doing. He was pretty sure that he had been cleaning the same patch of floor for at least ten minutes. He glanced up, trying to find the clock… and then realised that Frank was nowhere to be seen. Had he fucking run off without Stephen? Had he just upped and left? How fucking rude. But, to be honest, Stephen wouldn't put it past him.

No. That was mean.

Anyway, where would he go? It wasn't like he had a massive list of friends that would take him in when he actually needed them. Either way, how dare he just leave without saying goodbye – without saying anything! How dare he leave Stephen all the cleaning to do?

Although, to be fair, you have been taking such a long time doing it… And actually all the cleaning he was supposed to do has been done.

Urgh. Shut up, mental voice of reason. Just because you're in love with him doesn't mean you can let him get away with things like this… God's sakes! Even when Stephen was supposed to be annoyed at Frank, he couldn't be. Man, that boy was so… urgh!

Stephen sighed, and slowly got to his feet. Now that Frank appeared to have disappeared, he no longer needed to draw out the cleaning, and could instead pack up and go home. He tidied up his equipment, bunged it all back in the cupboard, noting how Frank's equipment was also neatly put away. Then, he checked around to make sure he hadn't left anything, and headed through to the back room. Just as he was taking off his apron to hang upon his peg, he noticed, however, that Frank's apron was not hung up and his bag was still there. Confused, Stephen finished sorting his bag and clothes, and perhaps doing a little bit of primping into the small mirror he carried, before slowly making his way back into the main room, checking all the smaller rooms as he passed, trying to find Frank.

Finally, he walked around the corner into the main room, utterly confused as to where Frank could possibly be.

His question was soon answered, when his eyes adjusted to the sudden low lighting that had settled upon the room.

To find Frank standing, only slightly awkwardly, in front of their favourite table in the middle of the room. He had decked it out in the restaurant's best, with a fancy, lace tablecloth and the swirly-ended cutlery - because he knew they were Stephen's favourites. There was a single candle in the middle of the table and two plates piled high with a beautiful, steaming, aromatic meal.

Stephen gasped.

It was difficult to tell in the candlelight, but he was pretty sure that Frank was blushing.

"Frank…" he breathed. "This is amazing!... And I'm sorry about…" he started but Frank held up his hand.

"No. It's not your fault. I know that you must have seen me in town that day when…" he coughed. "And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for being a dick, that day and all the other times. I'm sorry for being rude and bullying. I'm sorry for fighting with you. I'm sorry for being so annoying. I'm sorry for saying we weren't friends and then showing up at your house. I'm sorry for scaring off your date. I'm sorry. And that day in town, I…" he took a deep breath. "It didn't mean anything. In fact… In fact, I was trying to… you know… I was trying to… I guess… get over you."

There was a beat.

"Oh, and I'm sorry about your date. I guess I was… er… I guess I was jealous." He blushed and nodded his head, looking at the ground. "But I, er, made up for it. If you would like? Wait, let me try that again. Er. Stephen Carmichael, would you like to go on a date? With me?"

Stephen didn't say anything, so, cautiously, Frank glanced up.

To see Stephen standing there with the biggest grin plastered all over his face. He was trying to talk, to speak, to say YES, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD YES! ABSOLUTELY, IRREVOCABLY YES! But his mouth just didn't seem to want to cooperate and instead was making strange shapes and occasionally squeaking. Eventually, he managed to get himself together enough to nod vigorously.

"Yes?" Frank checked.

"Yes." Stephen squealed.

"Ok." Frank nodded. "Ok. Good."

"God! You are so sweet!" Stephen blurted.

Frank's whole face went bright red, and he drew his gaze back down to the floor, mumbling some words of protest.

Stephen stepped closer, calming himself. "Thank you, Frank."

Frank looked up. And barely had time to process the vision of joy that was right before his eyes, before those grinning lips were upon his own.

It was soft and gentle and perfect. But at the same time, there was more to the way that their lips brushed than any movement had ever held before. Slowly, almost cautiously, Frank's hands took Stephen's waist, while Stephen entwined his arms around Frank's neck. Their bodies pressed together, Stephen's rock hard muscles defined through his thin t-shirt, forming impressions on Frank's own skin from the contact. Stephen could tell that Frank was nervous, but he also knew that he wanted more. So, gradually, he increased the pressure, pulling Frank closer against him, melding their mouths into an impermeable embrace.

Frank knew that he oughtn't to push Stephen. That things were only starting out. That they should really take it slow. But he also knew that Stephen was grinding onto him, reeling him in. And fucking hell, that was hot. And suddenly, he couldn't hold back any longer.

With barely any warning, Frank spun the couple so Stephen was pressed up against the counter which was nearby. He grabbed his wrists and pressed them to the table-top, letting his alpha instincts kick in. His lips and tongue were practically attacking Stephen's mouth, and then he felt Stephen gently bite his lip and tug it between his teeth, matching his ferocity in his own way, and Frank felt a groan vibrate throughout his entire being.

Stephen smiled into the kiss.

Frank had never felt anything so strongly as the need he felt right now to have Stephen, to mark him as his own. To make sure that everybody knew he was his. So when he felt an opportunity, he slid his lips along Stephen's jawline, travelling off down his neck, finding a particular tender spot. And there he started to suck and nibble and lick, feeling the skin underneath his mouth prickle and dance.

This felt like heaven. This actually felt like absolute heaven. Dear God, Stephen had never felt anything so good before in his entire life. Moan after moan escaped his lusty lips, and he drew his legs up to encircle Frank's waist and pull him closer. In return, Frank strengthened his attack and slid his hands slowly up Stephen's thighs.

Eventually, Frank pulled back to admire his good work. There was a cluster of hickeys left all over Stephen's neck, down to his collarbone. Their eyes met and they shared a lopsided smile, neither afraid to show how happy they were in this particular moment. Their lips met again, but just a short, tender kiss, not one based on greedy lust, but one full of affection and care.

"Shit." Stephen said suddenly, pulling back.

"What?" Frank replied, terrified that Stephen had thought better and realised that Frank wasn't good enough for him after all.

"Dinner's going to get cold!" he exclaimed.

Frank burst out laughing out of relief, waving off Stephen's confused look, but did nod, kissing Stephen one last time before helping him down.

The meal was only a little bit cold by the time they got to it, but it was still utterly delicious.

"Mmmmm…. Where did you get this?" Stephen asked, in between mouthfuls.

Frank flushed yet again, staring at his napkin while answering in mumbles "I made it."

"You made it?" Stephen stared. "But… but this is incredible! You never told me you could cook." He teased.

Frank just shrugged and Stephen felt his heart sink. He knew it was stupid, but he wished Frank would share more things with him. Frank saw this slight movement, and realised it was stupid to hold anything back. He trusted Stephen, with absolutely everything that was himself.

So he let his voice speak loud and clear. "It's not something I really share with people. My Dad thinks that it makes you soft, that it's a woman's job. I used to think that too, always afraid of appearing weak." He paused, and looked Stephen right in the eyes, taking his hand over the table. "But not anymore."

Because I have you.


	20. And They All Lived Happily Ever After

**The End **

On Monday, they strolled into school, smiles beaming… but not entirely ready to come out just yet. However, throughout the day, enough people figured something was up merely from the fact that Frank didn't chuck _any_ Year 7's into lockers, even when one literally walked right into him. And the continuous staring and smiling and little looks between him and Stephen didn't help.

By the end of the week, pretty much the entirety of Special K had worked it out, although no one said anything to either of their faces…

Until Joe accidentally mentioned it stupidly loudly to Alfie just as the room went quiet. And it really was proof that Frank had changed, and testimony to how strongly he felt for Stephen, because he only hit Joe once, and very, very lightly, over the head… so he was only had to go to the nurse's office for half an hour! - much better than the usual two hours.

After that, it became quite common for the pair to sit together, hands clasped, eyes gazing and hearts pounding. At first, Frank had been worried what people would think – hell, Stephen had been worried what people might say – but it almost came as a shock to both of them when… no one really seemed to care. Mitchell even had the balls to say that he had seen it coming, to which everyone shook their heads and protested exclamations – far too loudly for Hangover Monday.

Ah… things were back to normal. Well, except with more kissing.

By the end of the week, Frank was just so comfortable, and probably the happiest he had ever been in his entire life – and the rest school sure felt that way too. On Saturday, they walked straight into _Bill's_ heads high and arms entwined around the other's waist. Whispers flew and buzzed, dancing from ear to ear, but Frank just had to look at Stephen to know that they didn't bother him anymore. They worked normally, flirting the same as ever, and people didn't treat them any differently.

It was the final week before they were all being allowed a few Saturday's holiday now the festive season had passed, so the boss called everyone together once the shift was over. He said all the usual things about how well they had all worked, how thankful he was, how far they had come over the past weeks – he looked straight at Frank and Stephen for that part. He told them all how proud he was of them, and how he hoped they all enjoyed it. Then there was some sort of awkward group hug, and, just when Frank and Stephen thought they had escaped, the boss finished off by saying,

"And I think we all want to say a massive congratulations to our favourite couple, Frank and Stephen, who have apparently, finally, got their heads out of their own arses and got together."

Everyone laughed, the couple blushed but grinned.

Then Carla and Sam shouted "Kiss!"

And suddenly everyone was shouting "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

They looked at each other. Usually Frank would have punched them all for pushing an embarrassing spotlight onto him like this, and Stephen practically flinched while he prepared for the outburst… but it didn't come. Instead he just shrugged, and Stephen's heart warmed. They leant in, lips brushing together, sparks flying just like every other time they kissed.

When they pulled apart, whooping was heard from around the room. Girls were literally squealing and Stephen was pretty sure he had never heard so many people saying "I told you so!" at once. Together, the couple just laughed. Eventually, it calmed down, although people were still rushing up to them to say how happy they were and how they had shipped them forever. Slowly, they managed to make their way towards the door. And just when they thought they had made it, yet another figure clapped them on the back to get their attention. They turned, reluctantly, to find their boss standing there, beaming.

"I just want you boys to know that I knew it from the start. I'm so happy for you; I always believed in you guys! You're lucky, you really are, so lucky, to have found each other. You make each other better people."

"Well, Stephen makes me a better person. He can't get any better than he already is." Frank joked without thinking.

Stephen looked at him, blinking in surprise and flushing. Just like he always did when Frank complimented him out of the blue. Which seemed to happen a lot, actually so he should really stop being so surprised.

"What? It's true!" Frank defended himself.

"You're so cute!" Stephen threw his arms around Frank's neck and Frank gruffly mumbled something in return.

The boss coughed, bringing their attention back to him.

"And, er, I just wanted you guys to know that, well, you really ought to thank me. Because… I didn't see you two first." The boss looked at each of them, very purposefully, in turn.

The pair looked at each other confused.

"You'll work it out…" he sighed, and walked off. "Oh… And sorry about your date, Stephen!" he called over your shoulder. "But I just had to!"

"What?" Frank furrowed his eyebrows but Stephen slowly smiled as he realised.

"Just think about last week." He grinned, by his way of hinting as he dragged Frank out the door. "So what now? We've got some time to kill before mum can pick us up. What do you want to do?"

"Actually…" Frank took a deep breath. "I'd kinda like to go talk to my dad."

"Wow. Are you sure?" Stephen checked.

"Yeh. I'm sure. To be honest, I feel so incredible right now and I want him to see this and I want him to know that this is good. My house…" he corrected himself. "His house is just around the corner."

"Ok... Do you want me to come with you?"

Frank looked at Stephen. "Of course."

A few minutes later, Frank was knocking on the run down pit where inside his dad would be slouching on the sofa, surrounded by beer cans and pizza boxes. At first, there was no reply, but Frank knew that was just because his dad was too lazy to get up, so he kept knocking. Eventually, the door swung open to reveal a balding, fat, stinking man, crunching a beer can and baring his yellowing teeth.

His bloodshot eyes opened in surprise when he registered who it was. "Frank." He stated. "What are you doing here?"

Frank took a deep breath. "I came to talk to you."

"Have you finally come to your senses?" his dad asked, snidely, but then he noticed Stephen hovering in the background and spat "Apparently not. Go away." And started to close the door.

"No." Frank resisted, slamming his foot into the door to keep it open. "I won't until you've actually listened to me."

"Are you arguing with me, boy… or should I say, girl? Are you trying to refuse me? Haven't you done enough damage, or would you like me to teach you another lesson? You little faggot. You little, weak, faggoty girl." He raised his fist menacingly.

"I'm not the weak one here." Frank said. "I'm not the one that hides from life by squatting on a rotting sofa, drowning out feelings in drink and fast food. I'm not the one that can't face up to the fact that I am unhappy and failing, and am so damn scared of being my fucking self that I hole up and pretend that anything different is weak, anything that shows emotion is weak, hell, anything that shows humanity is weak. No. I'm not the weak one here. You are."

There was a beat.

"Oh, so you think you're so fucking big and strong now that you've realised you're a fucking faggot and you've found yourself a fucking faggot boyfriend?! Well, you're fucking not! You're just fucking stupid! And fucking gross! And fucking… girly weak!"

He punched him right in the face.

Frank barely flinched.

"You coward." Frank shook his head. "Hitting your own child… not even someone your own size. You know you can hurt me. There's nothing strong in beating up somebody smaller than you."

"SHUT UP!" His dad roared, striking him again. "Shut up and piss off. You're no child of mine." He spat in his face and slammed the door.

After that, there was silence. Blood slowly trickled from Frank's nose. Stephen waited for him to move, to talk, to do anything. Eventually he couldn't take it any longer.

"Frank, are you ok?" Stephen asked cautiously.

Slowly, Frank turned to face him. Stephen braced himself for a cutting remark, but he was pleasantly surprised.

"I have actually never been better in my entire life."

"Is that sarcastic?" It didn't sound it, but you never knew with Frank.

"I feel… free."

"I guess you are. Free from the evil spell cast by your evil father that made you fear who you really were." Stephen teased.

"Something like that." Frank smiled.

"And you shouldn't worry about being weak or anything…" Stephen started.

"I don't. Not now. I used to. You probably realised that. But not anymore."

"Yeh, that little speech? You really have freed yourself."

Frank looked at Stephen again, right into his eyes. "Only because of you."

And then he kissed him, and it felt like something inside of him sparked, flew and burst into a million beautiful tiny pieces. Fireworks.

As they walked away, Stephen wrapped his arms around Frank. "I'm glad you're so free and happy and confident now."

"It's strange. Because before, I beat people up and pushed people around… but only because I was weak and afraid of appearing weak. And that made people think I was strong. But I don't need to do that anymore because I know I'm strong… Because that was the bravest, strongest thing I've ever done." Frank grinned, and Stephen couldn't help but grin too. "And it's all because of you."

They kissed one last time; true love's kiss. And then they beamed at each other, and walked away, hand in hand. Away from Frank's father and his violence and his negativity. Away from Frank's past and his previous self. Forward to a new future, where they could be strong. Forward. Together.

_And there you have it! I hope you enjoyed! Sorry it was so cheesy, and such a rollercoaster, I just can't help it! All the graymichael fluff feels! Thankyou so much for reading and I hoped you enjoyed! I'm sorry it's so long as well... it was literally not meant to be at all this long... Anyway, thankyou and please feel free to comment and favourite ;) like seriously... feel free ;) always much appreciated! Thanks again and I hope you enjoyed... again :) I'll leave you all in peace now. _


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